


Arsonist, Contortionist, Psychologist

by JCMorrigan



Category: The Batman (Cartoon)
Genre: And Only One of Them Breaks Up, Assuming Ragdoll's Real Name is Peter Merkel, But It's Not Any of the Main Trio, But Not Between Firefly and Ragdoll, But Will Divert from Comics as Necessary, Character Death, Discussions of Sex but Nobody Has Any, I Had to Write Nods to Two of my NoTPs, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Phosphorangst, Primarily Show-Based Universe, Running With Some Details I Believe Are In the Comics, Somewhat Graphic Violence, Villain Shipping, but things get better, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCMorrigan/pseuds/JCMorrigan
Summary: Ragdoll fell for Firefly the moment they met. Firefly was oblivious, but suspected he had a new friend from that moment on. Meanwhile, Harley Quinn didn't know that she was to become a supervillain in her own right, let alone get wrapped up in that duo's schemes. Contains slash ships; nods to canon het ships. Contains violence/discussions of sexuality.This fanfic is based on the 2004-2008 animated series “The Batman.” Details may have been pulled from other universes to fill out world-building, but this fic will mostly stay within “The Batman” continuity and some elements may be AU from other canons in order to keep with that continuity.





	1. Team Penguin Begins

The fortieth floor of the facility was fortified by almost every security measure in the book. Keypads, retina scanners, fingerprint scanners. If someone wanted to raid the informational servers at its core and decided to take the main route, they would have to figure out ways to circumvent every single one of these obstacles.

            What the building’s architect had not accounted for, however, was the idea that someone might want to simply cut right through the wall from the outside. And that was exactly what was happening.

            A circular section of wall fell away, tipping off the side of the skyscraper and tumbling to the street below. Firefly knew he only had precious few minutes before somebody noticed it and figured there was foul play in the sky. He zipped inside the server room, his feet touching down on the carpeting. The thought of alarms crossed his mind as well; how long did he have before his presence set one off?

            Taking a flash drive into hand, Firefly connected the small device to the servers, crossing to the monitor. A few dollars had changed hands among the criminal underworld, and the password to this very computer had come into Firefly’s knowledge. Unlocking the monitor, Firefly initiated download to the flash drive.

            Somehow, miraculously, the download completed just as Firefly heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He plucked the now full flash drive from the servers, knowing full well that the crime would be attributed to him. Who else burned their way into buildings from the highest floor? But it wasn’t as though it mattered; if they wanted to touch him, they’d have to catch him. And he was currently supposed to be serving time in prison anyway. It wasn’t as though he would become any more of a wanted man.

            He took to the air with a metallic buzzing sound, zipping around the tops of the Gotham skyscrapers. The sun gleamed off the glass and chrome; he was hardly used to conducting his work in broad daylight. This particular audition, however, had been scheduled for an odd time.

            Left, left, right, left, right, right; Firefly even threw a few circles and backtracks into his pattern to assure he wouldn’t be followed. Being caught would be bad enough, but if he happened to lead the authorities to his new boss, he would be in incredibly hot water, so to speak. Finally, he reached the point where he’d thrown in enough twists and turns to make any pursuer dizzy, and made a beeline for the alley where his new cohort was waiting.

            Even though Firefly’s helmet covered his facial expression, he exuded smugness as he landed before the short, rotund man who awaited him. “Profiles on most of Gotham’s premier politicians,” he bragged, tossing the flash drive up and down in his hand. “Including all the scandals they don’t want you to know about.” He flung the drive at the man across from him. “So do I make the cut, or do I make the cut?” He finished off by removing his helmet, giving a sly smirk.

            Little did he know that he and his new employer were being watched by a third entity. This watcher had heard much about Firefly and his skills with sabotage by fire already; that was impressive. Yet seeing the pyromaniac in person was something altogether different. He was cool, he was confident…he had a beautiful face. The watcher, tucked away in his hiding place, felt his heart begin to race.

            The Penguin caught the flash drive, fumbling it with both hands briefly before it came to rest in his palm. “Not bad,” he remarked. “Consider yourself part of the team!”

            “Nice,” Firefly hissed.

            “And here I thought I’d need the likes of Joker or Riddler to make this scheme work,” Penguin laughed to himself. “But the three of us are tearing up this town already!”

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Firefly replied. “Three? I just count you and me. Unless you’ve got somebody hiding in that hat.”

            “Hat?” Penguin was suddenly made aware of the breeze toying with his orange hair. “Where IS my hat, anyway?” He turned around to see it standing upright on the ground behind him. “Now how did that get there…?” Penguin bent down and reached for the hat, sure it had just fallen off.

            The hat responded by scooting a foot out of Penguin’s reach.

            “HEY!” Penguin made another grab for the hat; it fled again. Firefly had absolutely no idea what was going on, but seeing Penguin grow more and more frustrated as he swiped again and again at the hat, which appeared to be moving with a will of its own, was utterly hilarious to him, and he couldn’t stifle a chuckle at the sight.

            “CUT THAT OUT!” Penguin yelled, now just trying to punch the hat, which refused to sit still long enough for him to land a blow. “GET OUTTA THERE!”

            Then, to Firefly’s utter shock, a pair of feet emerged from beneath the hat, followed by a set of spindly legs. An entire human being, clothed in a skin-tight suit that looked to have been patched together from thrown-out rags, unfolded himself from where he had been concealed within, swiping the hat off his own head at last and rolling it from the back of one hand across his arms down to his other hand playfully.

            Penguin bitterly swiped the hat out of his other associate’s hand. “Don’t do that,” he huffed.

            “So…there actually WAS somebody in your hat,” Firefly stated, utterly flabbergasted. He turned his attention to the other man; “What were you doing in our boss’s hat?”

            The other man shrugged. “Just getting comfortable.”

            “Firefly, meet Ragdoll,” Penguin said by way of introduction, perching the top hat back atop his head where it belonged. “Ragdoll, Firefly. You two, as the second and third founding members of Team Penguin, are going to be associates, so you better get along.”

            Ragdoll bent over backward until he’d rolled himself up into a wheel-esque shape; Firefly was pretty sure most human beings were physically incapable of doing what he’d seen Ragdoll doing without dislocating every joint in their body. When Ragdoll unfolded from the wheel, he was mere inches away from Firefly, still bent over backward so that he was looking up at Firefly upside-down. “You, my friend,” he remarked, “are HOT.”

            And it was true. For all of the thirty seconds that Ragdoll had seen Firefly, it had become obvious that the latter was the most attractive human being the former had ever come across. However, the trouble started when Firefly, knowing any teammate of his would have been briefed on his pyromaniac tendencies, took the compliment perfectly platonically: “Heh…yeah, literally.” He held up the arm that wasn’t busy cradling his helmet, displaying his wrist-mounted gauntlet. He activated it briefly, shooting a couple jets of flame into the air to show off. “Hottest guy in Gotham for sure. So. You know what I do. What’s your schtick?”

            “Me?” Ragdoll straightened up and spun a quick pirouette, turning to face Firefly head-on and right-side-up this time. “I guess you could say I…have a knack for BENDING the rules.” He bent one arm up behind his back, turning around to demonstrate to Firefly that it was turned at an angle that, on most people, would indicate a severely broken limb. He proceeded to bend his other arm into a symmetrical position, winding both arms around each other. Then, as quickly as they had tangled, his arms untangled, and now he was lifting one leg behind his back and over his shoulder, nudging his own face with his foot.

            “Nice!” Firefly complimented. “So I take it you don’t have any problems with it when the boss asks you to be flexible.”

            That pun caught Ragdoll off guard; he planted both feet solidly on the ground and gave a high-pitched laugh. He did indeed like Firefly very much. “It must be destiny that saw us together on the same team!” he remarked.

            “That,” Firefly replied, “and the fact that Ozzy apparently cuts a good paycheck.”

            “Only if you pull your own weight around here,” Penguin snapped. He was, however, glad to see that Firefly and Ragdoll were getting along; he had half suspected, knowing his luck, that the first two villains he was able to pull together would want to kill each other. “Now come on. I’ve got a third applicant on the line, and he’s overdue for his audition.”

            “You want me to get the car?” Ragdoll asked, and Firefly could already tell he was just a little too excited about that prospect.

            “Yeah, sure, get the car,” Penguin said with a dismissive wave. Ragdoll folded back up into a wheel and rolled out of the alleyway.

            “Yeah, so…he’s weird,” Firefly remarked as he watched Ragdoll leave, “but I like him. That bendy stuff has gotta be useful.” He turned back to Penguin. “So. What exactly are you pulling this little team together for, anyway?”

            “You’ll see,” Penguin said cryptically. “Just trust me. I have big plans for us in Gotham. Really big plans.”

            Before Firefly could press Penguin further on the subject, Penguin gestured behind Firefly; “Our ride’s here.”

            Firefly performed an about-face to look at the vehicle parked outside the alleyway and immediately snorted. “No. NO. THAT IS NOT WHAT I THINK IT IS. YOU ARE NOT DRIVING WHAT I THINK YOU ARE DRIVING.”

            From the front seat of what was inarguably an ice cream truck, Ragdoll waved.

            Firefly broke down into complete laughter then, doubling over as he stumbled toward the truck. “An ice cream truck? Our getaway car is an ICE CREAM TRUCK? WHY IS OUR GETAWAY CAR AN ICE CREAM TRUCK?”

            “Don’t ask me,” Penguin huffed. “I wanted something with class. The ice cream truck came as a package deal with Ragdoll.” He made his way around to the driver’s seat as Firefly clambered in the back, still convulsing from laughter. “Outta the way, Bendy,” Penguin commanded, shooing Ragdoll with an impatient wave. “I’m drivin’!”

            Ragdoll slipped back over the seat into the back of the truck, somehow managing to look graceful rather than awkward. Penguin settled himself in the driver’s seat and threw the ice cream truck into gear. “Next stop, Gotham harbor,” he muttered.

            Finally calming down from his laugh attack, Firefly made himself comfortable sitting on the floor, legs stretched out over the truck floor and gas tank detached and set aside; Ragdoll took a seat on the floor next to him, legs folded into more of a pretzel. “Okay, so you know what I’m gonna ask,” Firefly said. “Why an ICE CREAM TRUCK?”

            Ragdoll shrugged. “It was left unattended and I needed a car. How could I pass it up? You know, this is THE ice cream truck that was used in the police chase after Cosmo Krank. Nobody paid any attention to it after that.”

            “Yeah, but an ICE CREAM TRUCK? Didn’t you have literally ANYTHING else with wheels?”

            “I had a very nice scooter,” Ragdoll answered. “But the Batman and the Catwoman made scrap metal out of it.”

            “Ugh.” Firefly leaned back against the wall. “Tell me about the Batman. I’d be sitting pretty right now if that guy would just stop getting in my way. At least you got Catwoman with him. She’s got it goin’ on.”

            “She is a doll, isn’t she? But she has the worst habit of getting in your way when you’re trying to mind your own business and steal something. She just can’t leave well enough alone.”

            Firefly felt Ragdoll’s eyes fixed upon him; he turned to look his new cohort in the face. While Ragdoll’s hood covered most of his face, it left his mouth open to view, and since Firefly had first laid eyes on Ragdoll, he swore that the same silly smile hadn’t left the man’s expression. “So, tell me more about the infamous Firefly,” Ragdoll asked.

            “Not much to tell,” Firefly replied, finding himself smiling ever so slightly; it was contagious. “I’m just trying to score enough big hits that I can blow this town.”

            “You want to leave Gotham?” Ragdoll reiterated. “What’s there to hate about Gotham?”

            “What’s there NOT to hate about Gotham?” Firefly retorted. Then, after some thought, “Do you…even hate anything? You don’t seem like the kind of guy that hates things. It’s that stupid smile.”

            “Hmmm…do I hate anything?” Ragdoll thought it over. “Not at the moment, no. But you, on the other hand…”

            “Feel like nobody in this town gives me any respect,” Firefly explained. “Half the time, when my crimes get reported on the news, I get credited as ‘Dragonfly’ or ‘Wasp.’ ‘Wasp’ doesn’t even sound like a guy OR a villain name. It’s like all anybody ever does here is get in everybody else’s way. Before I took up arson, that’s just what happened to me every day. People got in my way. Cutting in line, bumping into me on the street, throwing their gum on the ground right where I’d step on it…and don’t even get me started on the other villains I’ve tried working with. Here’s a tip: if Mr. Freeze ever calls you up with a contract, DON’T take the gig.”

            “I take it you found Penguin significantly less bothersome of a prospect to work with.”

            “It’s Penguin,” Firefly said with a smirk. “He’s annoying, but I thought at worst I’d get a few laughs out of the deal.”

            “I can hear you, you know!” Penguin snapped from the driver’s seat.

            “Besides, like I said, the paycheck on this one was too big to turn down,” Firefly went on. “I was a little skeptical about the whole ‘team’ aspect, but again, it’s Penguin.”

            Penguin made a dissatisfied sound reminiscent of a honking bird.

            “And you’re cool so far,” Firefly reassured Ragdoll. “Really, REALLY weird. But cool.”

            Firefly didn’t think it was possible, but Ragdoll’s smile actually grew wider. “Ice cream truck and all?”

            “Ice cream truck and all,” Firefly laughed.

            “What about your personal life?” Ragdoll asked, eager to know the answer to one question in particular. “Wife and children?”

            “NO,” Firefly replied vehemently. “I am SO over falling for any of that relationship crud. From now on, it’s me, myself, and I, and NO one else.”

            It was like a pair of screeching brakes; so that was why all of Ragdoll’s flirting had hit a brick wall.

            “What about you?” Firefly asked. “Wife and kids?”

            “None to speak of,” Ragdoll answered.

            “Couple of bachelors, looting Gotham for all the money it’s worth,” Firefly said with a grin, holding out a fist. “I think this is the beginning of something pretty good.”

            Ragdoll’s own clenched fist collided against Firefly’s. “I would have to concur!”

            It was obvious he wasn’t getting anywhere romantic with Firefly, but Ragdoll was still quite enamored with him. Besides, he knew he had someone he could call and count on to give him solid advice about where to go with his unrequited affections.

            The truck screeched to a halt. “We’re here, boys,” Penguin announced, hopping out of the driver’s seat.

            “Showtime!” Firefly settled his helmet back over his face (and what a shame to see such a pretty face go back under wraps, Ragdoll thought). “So. What’s your money on: the new guy being a loser, or the new guy showing us both up?”

            “He won’t be anything special either way,” Ragdoll theorized.

            “I’m betting on ‘loser,’” Firefly resolved as he shifted about to begin getting to his feet and reattaching his tank. Ragdoll was on his feet first – no surprise to Firefly – and extended a hand downward to his armor-clad associate. Taken somewhat off guard, Firefly just said “Hey, thanks” and briefly clasped Ragdoll’s hand for support as he straightened up; he half expected to accidentally just pull Ragdoll off balance, but the man was surprisingly strong for being rail-thin. Once at full height, Firefly reattached his fuel tank and threw open the back doors of the truck.

            Penguin’s gaze was fixed upon the horizon, where a small boat was coming into the harbor. His infamously flipper-shaped hand was pressed to his brow to counteract the effects of the sun on the water, a blinding dapple of flecks of light. Firefly and Ragdoll strode up to either side of him, following his gaze. “What are we looking at?” Firefly asked.

            “The other guy said he was gonna do somethin’ out in the harbor,” Penguin explained. “Said I’d know it when I saw it, whatever that means.”

            “Here we go,” Firefly said, and Ragdoll could hear the smirk in his voice; “this guy’s gonna crash. And. Burn.”

            “My money’s still on mediocrity,” Ragdoll reiterated. “Besides, he couldn’t crash and burn. We’re at the harbor. He’d sink and drown.”

            “Point!” Firefly agreed.

            All three kept their eyes glued on the approaching boat, not sure what else to look at. For a moment, it seemed too much time had passed, and they’d been set up for fools. Then, in the distance, a dark, hulking shape leapt up out of the water and onto the boat. An outcry of anger rang out from the boat; it was soon replaced by screams of terror as the crew came into contact with the interloper, their limp bodies being flung out into the water. None of them surfaced after being pitched in. Then there was silence as the boat continued its course.

            “Well,” Ragdoll remarked, “looks like we both lost money on that one, Firefly.”

            “He showed us up!” Firefly cried in part outrage and part awe. “He actually showed us both up!”

            The boat parked at a dock, and Penguin, Firefly, and Ragdoll all rushed to see what monstrosity could possibly have disposed of the crew of an entire boat so quickly. At the same time, a tall, broad-muscled figure with the skin and face of a crocodile molded into the stature of a human exited the cabin of the boat. “How y’all doin?” he greeted coyly. “Knew there’d be a shipment of valuable electronics comin’ in today. Thought you might want ‘em. They’re all here on this boat. Go get one of the crates downstairs if you don’t believe me.”

            Penguin, Firefly, and Ragdoll all rushed to the lower level of the small boat – which, save its reptilian driver, was completely devoid of life – and tore into one of the crates to see layers of neatly packed laptops. “Completely showed us up,” Firefly sighed.

            The reptilian man made his way downstairs after the trio. “So,” he asked, “how am I farin’ for that little team y’all’re puttin’ together?”

            “How’d you fare?” Penguin repeated. “I wish these two knuckleheads had pulled off something that gruesomely valuable!”

            “HEY!” Firefly balked.

            “I’m guessing this is your revenge for us talking about you in the back of the truck, isn’t it,” Ragdoll sighed.

            “Welcome to Team Penguin, Mr…” Penguin faltered.

            “Croc,” the newcomer introduced. “Killer Croc. You, of course, need no introduction, Penguin. And come to think of it, I recognize one of your teammates already.” He approached Firefly. “Ain’t you Hornet?”

            “Do I LOOK like a Hornet?” Firefly groaned. “It’s Firefly. FIREFLY. FIRE.” He blasted another short jet from his wrist. “FLY.” He hovered half a foot off the ground. “GET IT?”

            “And you?” Killer Croc looked Ragdoll up and down. “What are you supposed to be?”

            “I’m Ragdoll!” Ragdoll introduced enthusiastically, twisting his left arm behind his back and extending it past his right side to offer to Killer Croc to shake hands.

            Killer Croc just gave a snort, looking at the hand with derision.

            “With your muscle, Firefly’s talents with fire, and Ragdoll’s flexibility, we’ll be unstoppable!” Penguin boasted. “All we need is to find one more villain willing to join the cause, and Team Penguin will be complete!”

            “We’re not seriously calling ourselves ‘Team Penguin,’” Firefly commented.

            “I have a few suggestions for alternate names,” Ragdoll volunteered.

            “We’re ‘Team Penguin,’” Penguin growled. “End of story.”

            “So,” Firefly wondered out loud, “how hard do you think it’ll be to come up with a fifth member who totally kicks butt?”

            As the advent of Killer Moth would show them, it was harder than any of them suspected.

* * *

 

            As Dr. Harleen Quinzel, “Harley” for short, walked out onto the stage of her widely popular talk show, she was greeted by a rousing cheer from the studio audience. “Awww, thank you!” she gushed. “You’re too kind, really!” She made her way to a plushy red couch in the midst of her scenery, which was built to resemble the interior of a cliché Valentine’s Day card. “Hi there, everyone,” Harley began as the cheering died down, “and welcome to another Heart 2 Heart with Harley! Are you ready to start talkin’ matters of the heart?”

            A cheer let Harley know she had the audience in her grip, and she sat down, utterly ecstatic to begin the day’s work. It always pleased her to delve into matters of romance; to her, the prospect of that sort of love was what made life worth living. “Let’s take our first call, shall we?” She leaned over to the table in front of her and pressed a button on a speaker. “You’re on Heart 2 Heart with Harley! What’s your heart achin’ for?”

            “Hello, Harley,” a solid and confident voice emanated from the speaker. “I’m an occasional viewer, but a first-time caller, and I was hoping you could steer me in the right direction.”

            “Of course, puddin’!” Harley said sweetly. “What can I call ya?”

            “My name? Peter.”

            “And what can I do for ya, Peter?”

            “Well, Harley, I’ve just met literally the hottest person in all of Gotham.”

            “Awwww!” Harley cooed. “She must be flattered to know you think of her that way!”

            “Actually, it’s not a ‘her.’ It’s a ‘him.’”

            “Ohhhhhhh,” Harley realized. “I gotcha! Don’t worry; I ain’t gonna judge! Anyway, I got three words for ya – “

            “Before you mention anything related to candy or flowers, Harley, you should perhaps hear me out,” Peter explained. “You see, I’ve been dropping hints here and there that he has me completely enchanted. However, the object of my affections has professed his disillusionment with all forms of romance. I haven’t even asked the question, and I’ve already gotten a ‘No.’”

            “You know how I feel about that word, ‘No’!” Harley interrupted, firing a well-timed wink at the camera.

            “To tell you the truth, I don’t even think he swings the way I would need him to, if you catch my drift,” Peter went on. “I do know I’ve heard him speak very positively of the figure of a female…mutual acquaintance.”

            “That don’t mean he don’t do both!” Harley replied. “Y’know what I think, Peter? I think this is no time to be givin’ up! Your guy probably doesn’t know how good he would have it with ya! Oh, don’t go all modest on me; I can already tell from the sounds of your voice that you’re a great guy!”

            “I wasn’t about to go modest,” Peter said somewhat smugly. “I know a good thing when I see one in the mirror.” This got a few “Wooooo”s from the audience.

            “That’s the spirit!” Harley encouraged. “Just keep thinkin’ like that, and hang in there with your hot guy! He’ll come around to seein’ ya the way ya want; I just know it! In the meantime, ya gotta treat him like a prince! …Normally, this is the part where I’d tell you to go on ahead with the flowers, but most guys ain’t into that sorta thing.”

            “I think I can manage without flowers,” Peter stated in such a way that Harley could already tell he was coming up with ideas of how to impress the one he admired. “Thank you ever so much, Harley. You don’t know how much of a help you’ve – ooh! Gotta go! Toodles!” The line disconnected.

            “We’ll be rootin’ for ya, Peter!” Harley told the camera, and her audience cheered in response. “Okay, next caller!”

            As much as her day-to-day calls were tickling her heart, Harley was more excited for things to come. She was in deep planning for her show’s Valentine’s Day special, and, almost more importantly, she’d somehow managed to book Bruce Wayne as a guest for an upcoming episode. If that didn’t put her ratings through the roof, she didn’t know what would.

 

* * *

 

            Penguin stormed around the street corner, looking for the wayward member of his team; the first real mission was nigh, and one had already gone missing. He found the absent Ragdoll huddled up to a pay phone, obviously deep in conversation.

            Penguin cleared his throat loudly, and Ragdoll turned to look at him; as soon as he spied Penguin, the spindly villain cut off his speech with an “Ooh! Gotta go! Toodles!” and slammed the receiver down on the hook.

            Penguin sighed. “I know I’m gonna get tired of askin’ this question real soon, but…Ragdoll, what are you DOING?”

            “Trying to have a conversation,” Ragdoll answered, “and I would appreciate a little privacy.” He wore the same smile as ever, now enigmatic.

            “Whatever,” Penguin sighed. “We’re up for our first mission. Get in the ridiculous car and let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

            The ride toward the first target warehouse took some time, and it was time that Killer Moth decided to use to make conversation. “So,” he remarked, “now that we’re teammates, we should probably know each other’s real names.”

            “No,” Firefly snapped. “That is not how it works.”

            “Drury Walker,” Killer Moth stated. “You guys?”

            “Don’t care,” Firefly sighed.

            “Well, we all know Penguin is Oswald Cobblepot,” Killer Moth pointed out.

            “Only because he points out he’s a Cobblepot every chance he gets,” Firefly brought up.

            “And don’t you forget it!” Penguin snapped from the driver’s seat.

            “If it’ll get you to shut up,” Killer Croc sighed, “Waylon Jones.”

            “Nonya,” Ragdoll volunteered.

            “Nonya?” Killer Moth repeated. “That’s a weird – “

            “It’s short for ‘Nonya Business.’” Ragdoll’s signature smile dripped with smugness.

            Firefly snorted, then immediately regained his cool.

            For the rest of the ride, Killer Moth was unable to get a real name out of either Firefly or Ragdoll. Firefly was sure Killer Moth had heard his on the news at some point, though: probably credited as the identity of supervillain “Lightning Bug.” He didn’t point this out, though.

 

* * *

 

            The escapades of Team Penguin went as horribly wrong as could possibly have been expected. Penguin’s grand scheme had amounted to purloining a bejeweled statue of a penguin, as his associates quickly realized they all should have been able to guess from day one. The arrival of the Batman, the Batgirl, and Robin had put a new damper on the plan, and said trio managed to incapacitate the entirety of Team Penguin and deliver them into custody of the Gotham Police Department. As Firefly, Ragdoll, and Killer Croc were cuffed and loaded into the cramped backs of police vans, the prevalent thought on their minds was that they were never, ever going to work for the Penguin again. Killer Moth was more open to the idea, but had a feeling he wouldn’t be invited back onto any teams anytime soon.

            But then the prevalent thought in Ragdoll’s mind became something new: the officers that had him in custody directed him into the back of the same van as Firefly. If that wasn’t destiny, he thought, he didn’t know what was.

            The doors slammed on the pair of apprehended criminals, and the van roared into motion. “Well, that couldn’t have gone any worse,” Firefly sighed.

            “Once again, I have to concur,” Ragdoll sighed.

            “It’s ALWAYS the Batman. Why is it ALWAYS the Batman?”

            “Apparently he has literally nothing better to do than ruin our lives,” Ragdoll suggested.

            Firefly looked toward him and was taken aback. “How…HOW are you still smiling?”

            “Because you and I both know the game isn’t over,” Ragdoll reminded Firefly. “When’s the last time prison actually held you, and when’s the last time Arkham actually held me? They might as well put us in cardboard boxes.”

            “You go to Arkham?” Firefly reiterated. “Huh. That makes sense. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re…uh…”

            “Eccentric?” Ragdoll filled in.

            “Yeah.”

            “Oh, yes, to be sure, but I don’t yet know that they’ve actually managed to diagnose me with anything,” Ragdoll clarified. “The first time, I know I ended up there because Hugo Strange wanted to cross-examine me sixty different ways. I had a good bit of fun with him. I think I was actually the only one who sat still long enough to answer questions for his D.A.V.E. AI project.”

            “How is playing along with him having fun with him?”

            “Because I thought it would be amusing if he claimed his AI had the psychological profiles of Joker and Penguin, but my voice came out of it.” Firefly was getting used to telling the difference between Ragdoll’s default smile and the one he wore when he was altogether too proud of himself; now, it was the latter.

            “Double points if it snarked off to people and did fancy acrobatics?” Firefly suggested.

            “I don’t see how an AI could pull off any feats of physical incredibility, but yes,” Ragdoll confirmed.

            “…Question,” Firefly said suddenly, something having occurred to him.

            “Yes, Firefly?”

            “Are those handcuffs ACTUALLY able to hold you? Or can you do some weird twisty thing with your hand to get out of them?”

            “You mean like this?” Ragdoll waved his hand, free and uncuffed, in Firefly’s face (or at least in front of his helmet), bending each spindly finger. “Don’t tell anyone.” He replaced his hand behind his back innocently.

            “I knew it,” Firefly muttered. “Well, at least one good thing came out of this.”

            “And that would be?”

            Firefly paused before stating, “No. I was gonna say something, but it’s too sappy. I’m not gonna go there.”

            “Oh, but now that you’ve brought it up, you HAVE to tell.”

            Firefly thought it over, and he decided there was no harm in letting his guard down just this once: “I made a pretty good friend.”

            “Oh, really?” Ragdoll’s smile was back to smug. “I hadn’t realized you’d gotten that close to anyone. Was it Killer Croc? He didn’t seem like your type, but – “

            “You know it’s you, R.D. Also, you’re a jerk.”

            “I know.” Every time Firefly thought Ragdoll’s smile couldn’t get any more smug, he was proven wrong. “I like you quite a bit myself, Firefly. I think we’re all in agreement that we’re never going to work under the name ‘Team Penguin’ again – “

            “Ugh, TELL me about it.”

            “But if the opportunity ever arose to ally with you under different circumstances, I wouldn’t pass it up,” Ragdoll said casually.

            “Same,” Firefly replied. “Maybe this time, we can actually be the Gotham Gangstas.”

            “Villains United or nothing.”

            The van came to a slow halt. “End of the line for us, I guess,” Firefly commented. “Good luck at Arkham.”

            “Good luck to you too, Firefly.”

            Ragdoll was certain of one thing: the spell remained unbroken. Firefly still retained a grip on his heart, and if fate didn’t find a way to reunite them, then Ragdoll would just have to do it himself.


	2. The Dark Duo Rises

Valentine’s Day drew ever closer, and Harley Quinzel became more elated as time passed. First of all, she had that exclusive interview with Bruce Wayne that most other television hosts would murder in order to get. Second, the Valentine’s Day special she was planning for her show was going to blow every other episode she’d ever recorded out of the water. Until then, she had to maintain composure; she still had a slew of run-of-the-mill episodes to film until she could get to the juicy bits.

            “You’re on Heart 2 Heart with Harley!” she greeted as she switched on her speaker.

            “Hello, Harley,” a familiar voice greeted. “This is Peter. You might remember me.”

            “Peter!” Harley cried in pleased recognition. “Of course I remember you! How’re things goin’ with the hot guy?”

            “Well enough,” Peter answered. “I’ve decided to see him again.”

            “Good for you!” Harley squealed. “And how’s that goin’?”  
            “That’s why I’m calling. I’m standing outside his apartment building right now. And for some reason, I haven’t gone up to his apartment yet. I don’t know why I haven’t gone up to his apartment yet. I don’t know why the first thing I thought of was to call you instead. Why was the first thing I thought of to call you instead, Harley?”

            “Awww, Peter,” Harley answered, “you’re nervous.”

            “I’m not nervous,” Peter insisted. “I’m not a nervous person. That can’t be right.”

            “You know what this means?” Harley asked. “If you’re nervous to go up to his door and knock – “

            “But I’m not nervous – “

            “It means he’s the one!” Harley insisted.

            A pause. “You really think so?”

            “If I’m hearin’ ya right,” Harley reiterated, “ya wouldn’t have any problem goin’ up to the door of any old friend, would ya?”

            “No.”

            “That’s how much the hot guy means to ya,” Harley concluded. “He’s the only one who’s got ya this head over heels. You know whatcha gotta do now, right?”

            “Hang up the phone, march right up to his apartment, and knock?” Peter filled in.

            “You got it!” Harley confirmed. “You go get him, Peter! I’m still rootin’ for ya!”

            “Thank you as usual for your incredibly, one might say insanely helpful advice,” Peter replied. “And on that note…toodles!” The line disconnected.

            “I really hope he calls back so we can hear the conclusion of the hot guy saga,” Harley told her audience. “But don’t worry; that’s not the only saga we’ve got goin’ for us! Next caller! You’re on the line with Harley Quinzel, and this is a Heart 2 Heart!”

 

* * *

 

            Garfield Lynns, known in most supervillain circles as Firefly, was in the midst of a streak of days off. No one had contacted him for any jobs – or, for that matter, to try and get him to join any teams. At first, he’d enjoyed the chance to kick back, relax, and play some video games. But now it was just getting boring. He spent the most of the morning taking a long, hot shower in order to kill time. After that, he wrapped a towel around his waist, remembering he’d left the sweatshirt he wanted in the living room, and proceeded there to find that Ragdoll had climbed into his apartment through the open window and was standing in the middle of the room.

            “WHAT THE HECK, R.D.?” Garfield screamed, having gone bloodless with shock.

            “Your window was open,” Ragdoll said innocently. “Saved me the trouble of knocking.”

            “DO YOU HAVE TO SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT? AND CAN YOU AT LEAST WAIT UNTIL I’M WEARING PANTS?”

            “All right,” Ragdoll replied casually. “Go get pants. Then I want to talk.”

            “Sure,” Garfield sighed, his heart rate slowing back to calm. “Just…actually knock next time, okay? Also, can you throw me that sweatshirt on the back of the couch?”

            Ragdoll scooped up the indicated sweatshirt and flung it through the air; Garfield reached out to catch it but missed, ending up with the fabric draped over his face. He staggered into his bedroom to find a suitable pair of jeans with the shirt still over his head.

            There were particular reasons seeing Garfield all but naked didn’t get Ragdoll as hot and bothered as it would have done for most who felt similar attraction toward him, but all the same, it wasn’t a bad sight to have glimpsed. He shrugged it off and waited for Garfield to return. He was glad Garfield had been there to begin with. While Ragdoll’s escape from Arkham had been easy as usual – every time the staff circumvented whatever scheme he’d used the last time, there was always another way around them – he had half expected to find Garfield’s apartment empty due to the latter having not arranged an escape from his own prison.

            Now fully dressed, Garfield came back to where Ragdoll kept his patient vigil. “How’d you find my place, anyway?” he asked.

            “I put out a good bribe,” Ragdoll answered. “You did a VERY good job of covering your tracks, but I got the location eventually.”

            “Apparently I didn’t do a good enough job,” Garfield muttered.

            “What, you’re not happy to see me?”

            “I’m happier to see you than I would the commish of the Gotham PD,” Garfield grumbled. “So what did you want to talk about?”

            “You recall when you said you would be interested in teaming up again?” Ragdoll reminded him.

            “Yeah,” Garfield responded.

            “Does that offer still hold today?”

            “Actually, yeah,” Garfield confirmed, brightening a bit. “What’d you have in mind? Do you have another crazy team waiting in the back of the ice cream truck?”

            “Actually, I was hoping this venture could just stay between you and me,” Ragdoll suggested. “What do you say we split the profits fifty-fifty?” Not an offer he would have made to most potential partners, he added to himself.

            “You got a particular job in mind?” Garfield asked with a raised eyebrow.

            “The original Gotham city charter,” Ragdoll said without missing a beat. “The one written in the founders’ own hands.”

            “You serious?” Garfield was taken aback. “The underworld I fly in has a pathetically incredible number of history buffs who would pay through the NOSE for that. I’ve tried to get it before, but, this being Gotham, they’ve got it supervillain-proofed. I’ve been able to get through the walls, but the thing’s guarded by literally the most cliché thing you can think of: lasers. The kind that make a web you’d have to be triple-jointed to even think…about…getting…around.” Realization hit him. “And you knew that, didn’t you?”

            “Triple-jointed, I can handle,” Ragdoll confirmed. “Breaking though the wall is another story. It’s almost as if this crime were tailor-made for us, isn’t it?” He extended his right hand, resisting the temptation to bend it in some impossible position first. “So, do we have a deal?”

            Garfield didn’t hesitate to clasp his business partner’s hand tightly; “We’ve got a deal. Just give me a minute to suit up, and we’ll be in business.” He let go of Ragdoll’s hand – which he never could get enough of Garfield touching – and turned away to retrieve his battle gear. Before he could disappear from the room entirely, he turned back to look at Ragdoll over his shoulder. “Garfield Lynns.”

            “Come again?” Ragdoll tilted his head in curiosity.

            Garfield turned around and backtracked. “My name,” he explained. “It’s Garfield Lynns. If we’re going to be partners on this…and if we’re going to be friends…you might as well know.”

            “I’ve heard that name!” Ragdoll realized. “…I thought it was Yellowjacket’s civilian name.”

            “No, that’s me!” Garfield was incensed. “There IS no Yellowjacket! Not in this city, anyway!”

            “Oh,” Ragdoll realized. “Well, then, you’ve done a lot more impressive crimes than I’ve given you credit for.”

            “Thanks…? I think…?” Garfield shook his head. “Anyway, thanks for not making any wisecracks about cats, lasagna, or Mondays. The other reason I hate this town: they either get my villain name wrong or turn my real name into a joke.”

            Ragdoll put out his hand one more time. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Garfield.”

            Garfield took Ragdoll’s hand one more time. “Same – “

            “Peter Merkel.”

            “Who?”

            “You told me yours, so that’s mine.”

            “Well, that figures,” Garfield muttered.

            “What figures?”

            “We worked on a team with an Oswald, a Waylon, and a Drury,” Garfield clarified, “and I’m Garfield. But of course, the weirdest guy on the team is named PETER. Literally the ONLY normal name.”

            Ragdoll teasingly placed both hands over his heart. “You really think I’m the weirdest person to come from Team Penguin? Why, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Garfield.”

            Garfield clapped him on the shoulder playfully. “I’m gonna go suit up now. Catch you downstairs.”

            Once both Firefly and Ragdoll were field ready, Firefly decked out in armor with his fuel tank glowing, Ragdoll started out around the corner. “I’ve parked the truck – “

            “Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, no,” Firefly interrupted. “We are NOT taking the ice cream truck. Don’t get me wrong. I love the ice cream truck. But I was thinking this time, we’d travel in style.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

            “No,” Ragdoll replied, beginning to suspect what Firefly was driving at.

            “Well, hold on.” Firefly looped one arm around Ragdoll’s waist, clutching him tightly. Ragdoll had barely enough time to put his own arms around Firefly’s shoulders before Firefly took off into the skies.

            It was another crime to be committed by day, and now Ragdoll was treated to what Firefly was used to seeing on such excursions, the sun reflecting off the glass and metal of Gotham with the intensity it had reflected off the waters of Gotham harbor. This method of transport was probably greatly unsafe, and would likely frighten those with weaker constitutions, Ragdoll realized, but he had a bit of a taste for danger, and besides, how could he possibly be afraid when he was that close to Firefly? He was absolutely confident in Firefly’s grip, that he wouldn’t be dropped by accident as they sped faster and faster. “Really, when you see the city from this view,” he posed, “how can you hate it?”

            “You get used to this,” Firefly replied. “But if you’re that easily impressed, you should try doing this by NIGHT. Seeing all the lights come on…I almost DON’T hate it.”

            Ragdoll tightened his grip on Firefly slightly. This exhilarating method of transport beat out an ice cream truck any day of the week.

            Once City Hall was in view, Firefly slowed and made his descent, carefully planting both his and Ragdoll’s feet on the roof. “I don’t think anyone saw us,” he observed, “knock on wood.” He let go of Ragdoll and surveyed the roof for his target destination. “Now, if I remember right, the room where they have the charter is riiiiiiiight…” He paced out the distance, calling to mind each landmark on the roof. “Here.” He planted his foot firmly on a particular spot. “You ready to crack this thing open, R.D.?”

            Ragdoll was at Firefly’s side in an instant; “Whenever you are.”

            Firefly expertly seared a hole in the roof, catching the plaster before it could cave inward. He pried away the circle to reveal the room below. A glass case containing an aged parchment rested in the center, and around it, barely visible in the afternoon light, was an absolute cluster of alarm lasers cutting through the air of the room every which way.

            “Is that cliché or what?” Firefly groaned. “Anyway, trip a single one of those and we’ll have the Batman breathing down our – “

            “I know.”

            “You got this?”

            “I have definitely got this.”

            “But are you SURE you – “

            Before Firefly could voice any more doubts, Ragdoll had dropped into the room, twisting in midair to narrowly avoid contact with even a single laser. He landed softly, fixing eyes upon the glass case containing the charter, then began to weave through the lasers, better able to see them once immersed in the room’s natural lighting.

            From above, Firefly could barely even comprehend what he was watching. Ragdoll’s movements were nothing short of impossible. He bent his limbs at tight angles, slipping through gaps that seemed impassable, all the while conducting it as a graceful dance that required little to no calculation. Every move was fluid and natural. At last, he reached the case, gently lifting it to ease out the papers within; he held them aloft to signal his victory to Firefly. Firefly flashed him a thumbs-up through the hole in the roof.

            That was when two city councilors, on their way to reference something against the original charter, entered the room through the door intended for authorized personnel use and were greeted by the sight of Ragdoll holding up the charter. They stared at him. He stared at them.

            “Oh, crud,” Firefly muttered.

            “YOU!” one of the councilors yelled. “PUT THAT BACK!”

            The other waved a hand through a nest of lasers, setting off all the alarms.

            “Well,” Firefly muttered to himself, “can’t make things much WORSE…” He dropped into the room, barreling through the lasers without regard. “Sorry, boys,” he taunted as he wrapped his arm back around Ragdoll. “Gotta fly!” He blasted off, taking Ragdoll and the charter with him back up and out of the roof.

            Ragdoll leaned over to call “TOODLES!” back through their exit point before the pair rose out of hearing range of the councilors.

            “Not quite flawless,” Firefly remarked, “but hey, at least we got our hands on the loot before we got found out. By the time the Bat shows up, our trail will be stone cold. Now, if I could have just thought of a good pun around the word ‘charter’ as a parting shot…”

            “I hope you had your course in mind,” Ragdoll suggested, “because we’re taking your charter.”

            “That was bad, even for YOU.”

            They landed a few blocks away from Firefly’s apartment; better to be safe than sorry. “So,” Firefly asked as he removed his arm from Ragdoll’s waist, “I’m guessing we both have connections. How are we gonna sell this thing: through your people or mine?”

            “I believe you were the first to suggest connections who would pay through the nose for it,” Ragdoll reminded Firefly. “The honor is yours.”

            Firefly nodded. “I call up a connection and we make the trade together. Sound fair?”

            “Extremely.”

            “You ever been to the Fourth Circle?”

            Ragdoll tilted his head, confused. “Of the Inferno?”

            “No, but that’s what it’s named for,” Firefly explained. “It’s a nightclub at the back of Weisman Street. And it’s almost exclusively our kind of crowd. It’s where I pick up most of my contracts ever since GothCorp dropped me. You go there, you can almost always find somebody who needs something burned down. Or somebody who wants something stolen. Or somebody looking to buy something stolen. I have an old client who’s talked about the charter before; I can have him at the Fourth Circle by nine tonight. We split up, we clean up, we show up in our own rides and meet up at 8:45. We go in civvies, not costume. Everybody in the Fourth Circle has an understanding that at the very least, if the cops show up to bust us, we’re not gonna LOOK like the guys they’re trying to bust. Also, I probably don’t have to tell you this, but bring something to put the cash in. You follow?”

            “I follow.”

            “8:45. Weisman. Fourth Circle.”

            “I follow, Firefly.”

            “Until then…” Firefly nodded. “You can hang onto the charter. Since we’re selling it to my guy and all.”

            Ragdoll nodded in return. “Fair enough.”

            “So, uh…see you later tonight, then?” Firefly suggested.

            “I suppose,” Ragdoll replied.

            As Firefly turned away, Ragdoll gave him a very earnest “Toodles.”

            That got Firefly to turn back around. “Do you have to say that every time?”  
            “Yes.”

            “It’s pretty hilarious,” Firefly informed him. “In the good way. Don’t ever change, R.D.”

            “I won’t if you don’t, Firefly.”

            As they parted, Firefly wondered if perhaps he should have invited Ragdoll back to his apartment to hang out for a bit: play video games, watch a movie, anything. After all, they were definitely friends, and if Firefly was being honest with himself, friendship was something he had a very hard time coming by. Maybe it was because most people he bumped into on the street annoyed him. Maybe it was because arsonists for hire, by description, didn’t have good social lives. Maybe it was something to do with his personality or the way he went about things. He’d convinced himself he didn’t really need to have bosom companions in order to get along, but now that he had an actual friend, he found himself liking the prospect. He simply wasn’t used to keeping company.

            And he remained blissfully unaware that Ragdoll would have jumped on any excuse for the two to spend more time together. But Firefly had insisted they part until their later rendez-vous, so they did exactly that.

* * *

 

            At 8:44 p.m., Garfield stood on the sidewalk outside the nightclub known as the Fourth Circle, or at least it was proclaimed to be by the violet neon lights over its entryway. Bass boomed from the building, almost shaking Garfield’s skeleton within his skin. Garfield had shown up dressed in a black tee emblazoned with the logo of one of his favorite rock bands, offset by a pair of black jeans; a duffle bag was slung over one shoulder for transportation of his payment. He glanced at a wristwatch just as the time ticked from 8:44 to 8:45. He hadn’t thought to synchronize clocks with his partner, and so was left to guess what time it was in the Ragdoll-sphere. When his own watch struck 8:46, he began to wonder about the possibility of being set up. He was sure Ragdoll was an opportunist, but he’d trusted him to keep a hold on the valuable charter all the same. What if he went behind Garfield’s back and sold it to one of his own connections? What if -   
            “Fancy meeting you here, Garfield.”

            The voice jolted Garfield out of his paranoid reverie, and he looked in the direction from which it had come only to realize this was literally the first time he’d seen Ragdoll out of costume, with no hood to hide his face. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected, but the sight caught him off guard. If it weren’t for the unmistakable voice, Garfield might not have been able to guess the man standing before him, with his dirty-blond hair and angular face, was Ragdoll. He certainly hadn’t expected the man to turn up wearing a full three-piece suit and carrying a briefcase. The elegance of his attire seemed a jarring contrast to his intentionally shabby-looking villainous ensemble.

            “You clean up nice,” Garfield commented. “Actually, you’re kinda makin’ me feel underdressed.”

            “Nonsense, Garfield,” Peter replied. “You look perfectly fine.” Better than fine, but he wasn’t about to go there. “Now, shall we?”

            “You have the thing, right?”

            Peter held up the briefcase and opened it just enough that Garfield could see the charter resting safely inside.

            “Good,” Garfield said with a nod. “Let’s do this.”

            The music inside the Fourth Circle was all but deafening. The clientele seemed to be divided in two camps: those who were making use of the strobe-lit dance floor and those who lingered at the tables on the sides. The former caught Peter’s attention briefly, and he nudged Garfield; “Care for a dance before we make our transaction?”

            Garfield gave a dry laugh; “I don’t dance.”

            “Whyever not?”

            “Because I don’t. Besides, we’ll lose track of the thing. I see our guy; c’mon.” Garfield did have to admit he was a little curious to know what Peter was like on the dancefloor. After seeing him move with such grace through the laser network in City Hall, he was convinced there wasn’t a better dancer in Gotham, perhaps the world. Not even close to a claim Garfield could make for himself; he was well aware that if he even attempted to move to a rhythm, he would end up knocking over at least three other dancers and completely losing the professional image he had cut for himself among this crowd.

            Peter, on the other hand, was adding “Dance with Garfield” to his bucket list.

            Garfield’s contact, a rather-nervous looking individual who kept glancing fitfully about, exuded an aura that suggested he didn’t have the mettle to do his own supervillainy. He recognized Garfield upon his approach, but was confused as to why he wasn’t alone; Firefly didn’t generally go in on heists with partners. The first words the nervous man blurted were “Who’s he?”

            “Business partner,” Garfield replied sternly. “You got the payment?”

            The nervous man nodded fervently, holding up a briefcase of his own.

            “Good,” Garfield stated. “Then let’s do business.”

            Garfield, Peter, and the man with all the money arranged themselves around a table at the very edge of the club. The contact opened up his briefcase, giving Garfield and Peter a glimpse of the stacks of dollar bills contained within. Peter responded by opening his own briefcase, revealing the charter.

            “On three,” Garfield commaned, “we switch. One. Two.”

            The nervous man briefly made eye contact with Peter, as though daring him not to hold up his end of the bargain. He quickly shied away upon seeing the solidness of Peter’s gaze.

            “Three.”

            The briefcases went sliding past each other and into the arms of their recipients. The contact slammed the case holding the charter shut, a smile breaking out over his face as he realized what exactly it was he now owned. Peter, on the other hand, was busy dividing the stacks of bills he’d been paid in evenly down the middle so Garfield could begin stuffing his half into his duffle.

            “Good doing business with you,” the contact said hurriedly before shuffling off as quickly as he could.

            “Aren’t you glad we’re holding actual money and not a bird statue?” Peter asked with a smirk.

            “You have no idea,” Garfield sighed. “Not bad for our first duo heist.”

            “First of many?”

            “I’m thinkin’.”

            A muscle-bound man in a dark suit approached their table from across the room, tapping Garfield on the shoulder. “You Firefly?”

            “I might know him,” Garfield said as he turned to face the newcomer. “I might not. Depends on who’s asking.”

            “A guy who needs something burned,” the bulky man responded. “And is willing to pay big time for it.”

            Garfield nodded. “I might be able to hook you up with something. What’s the gig?”

            The potential customer’s eyes alit on Peter and fixed him with a glare. “I’d rather not discuss it around eavesdroppers.”

            “He’s not an eavesdropper,” Garfield insisted sternly. “He’s a partner.” Though he wasn’t quite sure what part Peter could play in an arson hit. It wasn’t exactly the sort of profession that required great physical flexibility.

            “No, no.” Peter rose from the table, briefcase in hand. “Don’t pass up a job on my account. We’ll just have to arrange for another time.” He clapped Garfield lightly on the shoulder. “Toodles.”

            Then he was off, walking briskly until he cut across a corner of the dance floor, at which point, he pirouetted gracefully toward the exit, resuming a typical walk once he was closer to the door. Garfield watched him all the while, feeling slightly let down that their alliance was temporarily dissolved.

            “You paying attention?” the burly man asked.

            “Yeah,” Garfield replied, fixing his attention upon his new customer. “So tell me more about what you want to go up in flames.”


	3. Quinn the Quick and the Questionable

The jewelry shop had been closed for hours. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry, good things came to wait, and there were all sorts of other applicable clichés that clued Ragdoll to stay in hiding just a little longer. He had to be sure that when he emerged from his sanctuary, he would be completely alone.

            Whoever had designed the shop must have thought that a giant vase containing massive fake roses was a good design choice at the time. To be fair, not many interior designers made their decisions based on where they suspected a fairly nimble contortionist might or might not be able to hide. Ragdoll had just made sure to slip into the shop during a busy hour and enter the vase when all attention was diverted; they hadn’t even noticed that he was in full costume. If that didn’t go to show that the people of Gotham saw what they want to when they wanted it, Ragdoll didn’t know what did.

            When he was completely sure the place would be deserted, he untangled and slid out of the vase, taking a satchel in hand to hold the loot he intended to acquire.

            He wasn’t alone.

            It took Ragdoll a moment to realize that the other person in his presence was neither employee nor security guard of the shop. Either that, or local security had taken to dressing like jesters for some inexplicable reason. Clad in a bright red, a young woman sat atop one of the display cases, having pried the adjacent one open. A sparkling choker rested around her neck, diamond bracelets traveled up and down her arms, and she was in the midst of slipping a multitude of glimmering rings onto her fingers. Caught in the act, she looked up and gasped. “I was just looking, I swear!”

            “Nice try,” Ragdoll replied. “You’re robbing the store.”

            “Well, my cover’s blown,” the young woman sighed. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but…” She reached for a nearby purse, snaking a hand inside it. As soon as she withdrew her hand, holding something that resembled a large red heart shape, it dawned on her: “Hey, wait a minute! YOU’RE robbin’ the shop too!”

            “Getting in here as late as you did without making any noise or tripping any alarms was truly impressive,” Ragdoll complimented. “But unfortunately for you…I was here first. And you know what they say: finders keepers, losers weepers.”

            “You were here first?” the woman scoffed before giving a loud and intentionally obnoxious “HA! Maybe so, but you just wasted your time takin’ a nap in that vase!” She looked to the vase in confusion. “How’d you even fit in there, anyway? Ah, never mind. These jewels are mine, so back off!”

            Both paused, the exact same thing bothering them. As one, they commented, “Your voice sounds familiar.” Then they shrugged it off.

            “If you won’t listen to reason…” Ragdoll tensed, ready for a fight.

            “YOU listen to THIS!” the woman cried, pulling a pin from the heart and lobbing it at the floor. Ragdoll cartwheeled out of the way; the heart exploded, proving itself to be a grenade, leaving a scorch mark on the floor and collapsing another display.

            Ragdoll charged for the woman, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her until he could wrench one arm behind her back and put her in a hold. She responded by slamming her head backward as hard as she could, whacking Ragdoll in the face and causing him to lose focus long enough that she could twist away from his grip. She readied another grenade, but he was ready, swiping it from her hand and backflipping across the shop. “Hot potato!” he cried as he threw the grenade at its owner.

            The woman leapt to safety as the grenade brought down another display counter; fists clenched, she rushed at Ragdoll, throwing punch after punch. He dodged every single one by moving only a hair to the left, to the right, to the left, to the left a little more. Then he spun and dealt a kick to her stomach that sent her flying across the shop and into another counter so that most of her bangles and rings fell off.

            “Wait a minute!” the woman cried as she stood up, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. “Cease fire! Cease fire!”

            “You surrender?” Ragdoll taunted.

            “Nah,” the woman replied. “But it just occurred to me that neither of us is gonna be able to carry literally all this jewelry out the door in one bag. Whaddaya say we just start pickin’ up stuff from opposite sides of the store until we’ve got all we can carry? That way, we don’t have to tire ourselves out fightin’.” She tossed another heart shaped grenade up and down in her hand. “Unless you WANNA keep tryin’ not to end up sock puppet flambé.”

            “It’s actually Ragdoll,” Ragdoll clarified. “And…I have to admit you have a point.”

            “It’s still in keepin’ with the whole ‘finders keepers’ thing.”

            “You take the east end, and I’ll take the west?”

            “Sounds fair!”

            The two thieves split up, loading down their respective bags with as many sparkly stones as they could grab. “Geez,” the woman sighed. “Almost makes me wish I’d just found another job in the psychology field. At the end of the day, it’s worth it, though.”

            “You weren’t always a supervillain?” Ragdoll asked out of curiosity. “That would certainly explain why I’ve never seen you around before now.”

            “Oh…” the woman sighed, “you’ve seen me around, all right. Just not robbin’ jewelry shops. I used to be a pretty big TV personality, y’know.”

            Ragdoll realized where he’d heard his opponent’s voice before and gasped. “You’re Dr. Harleen Quinzel of Heart 2 Heart!” He momentarily fumbled his bag of loot out of shock.

            “I go by ‘Harley Quinn’ now,” Harley clarified. “More fittin’ with the whole supervillain thing. It was just supposed to be a secret identity for one night, but now I don’t really care if people know who I used to be.”

            “If I’d known who you were,” Ragdoll admitted, “I would have probably attempted to come up with a peaceful solution earlier.”

            “Or at all. I was the one who called the truce, remember?”

            “Right.”

            “So you liked my show?” Harley asked as she picked over a selection of glimmering diamonds.

            “I was more of a casual fan than an addict,” Ragdoll admitted, “but I saw my fair share of episodes. I took your advice quite to heart, Harley.”

            “Well, thanks,” Harley replied. “If I’d’a known you were a fan, I wouldn’t have tried to blow you up so many times.”

            Harley and Ragdoll looked to each other, then melted down into good honest laughter.

            “So what prompted the move from advising the lovelorn to plundering the treasure troves of Gotham?” Ragdoll asked.

            “I got fired,” Harley sighed. “Then…you’re never gonna belive this, but it turned out one of my biggest fans was Joker. Hey…between him and you, were all my fans villains? Eh, never mind. Joker found me when I was down and he turned my life around. He got me to smile again.”

            “That doesn’t sound like Joker,” Ragdoll stated in confusion.

            “Well…he and I got somethin’ kinda special,” Harley explained. “I’m his girlfriend, you see.”

            Ragdoll’s reply was a knee-jerk “Eurgh.”

            “Hey!” Harley snapped. “Just ‘cause you don’t know my puddin’ that well don’t mean you can just act all disgusted! I see sides of him you don’t.”

            Ragdoll was skeptical, but had to admit that he wasn’t in the best place to discuss Joker’s inherent value; “I suppose I’m still bitter about the one and only time we met.”

            “What happened then?”

            “He called me a knockoff of himself, warned me that all it would take to wipe the ‘infuriating’ smile off my face was one rotten day, proclaimed that rotten day was today, then had Punch and Judy wrap me up in chains and throw me in the river.” His grin grew wider. “But they didn’t wrap me up quite tightly enough.”

            “I would imagine it would take some pretty tight chains to hold you down,” Harley observed.

            “So where’s Joker now?” Ragdoll asked. “Isn’t a night on the town robbing jewelry shops with his paramour his idea of romance?”  
            “He’s got some other big scheme to work on,” Harley explained, “and he…well…he kinda said I’d be in the way, so I decided to treat myself a little.”

            Ragdoll had a few comments about what such a statement meant for Joker and Harley’s relationship, but he wasn’t in the mood to set Harley off again. “And you’ve stayed in the supervillain business because of him?”

            “Kinda because of him,” Harley clarified. “And kinda because of me. My career’s ruined, Ragsy. Y’mind if I call ya ‘Ragsy’?”

            “Not at all, Harley.”

            “I knew after my night out with Joker, I’d have a hard time fittin’ back into society,” Harley admitted. “Actually, maybe I never really fit in at all.”

            “I know that feeling. Though I’d wager I find it more fun than you do.”

            “But after Joker opened up the door for me,” Harley continued, her countenance brightening, “I realized I actually liked wreakin’ havoc and breakin’ the rules! Bein’ a supervillain is like…well, it’s like livin’ a fantasy! And to think when I was a little girl, I always dreamed about bein’ a princess. Turned out I was stuck on the wrong kind of fairy tale character. Villains have so much more fun!”

            “You know, it’s funny,” Ragdoll replied. “When I was young, I always used to dream of being a dashing thief like Robin Hood. And after that, I started realizing I rooted for villains so much more often than heroes in all sorts of stories. It was then that I realized that being a villain was my destiny! And you want to know something, Harley?”

            “What is it, Ragsy?”

            Ragdoll crossed the shop to put an arm around Harley’s shoulders. “Being a supervillain is the single most rewarding career in the world. You may be new to the game, but I can tell you’re going to have an absolute BLAST.”

            “Thanks, Ragsy,” Harley replied, flushing a little. “Y’know, for a bad guy, you’re not such a BAD guy.”

            “Oh, I am. You could say I’m very TWISTED. Just not to Harley Quinzel – ooh, I mean Quinn!”

            Ragdoll removed his arm and moved to cross back to his turf; Harley held out a hand. “Put it back.”

            “Put what back?”

            “Don’t think I didn’t see you take one of my rings outta my bag when you had your arm around me!”

            Ragdoll returned the sapphire. “You catch on quick, Harley. You’re going to make a GREAT villain.”

            “You got any advice for beginners, since you’re a veteran?”

            Don’t bet all your money on Joker, Ragdoll thought. “Don’t be too picky about what constitutes a ‘getaway car.’ Be creative. That goes for everything, really.”

            “Thanks!”

            Ragdoll decided he liked Harley even better as a fledgling villain than he liked her as an advisor. Not in the way he admired Firefly; she could never even come close. But perhaps she had some merit as an acquaintance, maybe even a pal. He just hoped her proximity to Joker wouldn’t cause friction.

            Harley was growing rather fond of Ragdoll herself. Not in the way she admired Joker, much in the way he couldn’t see her the way he saw Firefly. But for someone who had not a few minutes ago tried to beat her up in order to gain control of the entire contents of the jewelry store, he was quite reasonable and fun to talk to. She racked her brains for another topic to discuss and ended up finding a persistent gripe that wouldn’t leave her head instead. Though her better judgment told her not to bring it up, her instincts won out: “I hate Hynden Bennett!”

            “Who now?”

            “The person who got my timeslot when my show got canned!” Harley growled. “She isn’t fun and she doesn’t even do anything to help people! I may be a villain, but at least I helped people in my day! All Hynden ever does is try and see how many weird things she can make outta chocolate on her stupid cooking show! If it were up to me, I’d turn up that oven of hers so hot, it would burn her studio right down!”

            “I’m sorry,” Ragdoll replied, getting an idea, “but did you say you wanted to burn something down?”

            “Heck yeah, I want her studio burned down!”

            “Do you MEAN it?”

            Harley folded her arms. “I really, really mean it. And if I could figure out how to set a fire without the Gotham fire department jumpin’ down my throat, I’d totally do it myself.”

            “Would you pay to have it burned?”

            “Wait a minute.” Harley began to catch on. “You offerin’?”

            “Me? Oh, no, not me.” Ragdoll shook his head; Harley was beginning to notice just how much he smiled, even when stating things in the negative. Perhaps she should have found it unnerving. As it was, she found it rather comforting. It was probably a contributing factor as to why she found him so pleasant. He went on; “I happen to know someone who practices arson as a career. He doesn’t work for cheap, though.”

            Harley held up the bag full of jewels. “You think this oughta do it?”

            “That should be plenty. But don’t you want to save them for yourself?”

            “It’s really more about takin’ ‘em than it is about the money,” Harley admitted. “I’ll just take some more later. So tell me more about this guy!”

            “Have you heard of Firefly?” Ragdoll asked.

            Harley shook her head.

            “How about ‘Mayfly’?”

            “Oh, yeah!” Harley realized. “Garfield Lynns!”

            “That’s the one! He’ll do the job for you, and quite thoroughly, too. I can arrange a meeting for the two of you at the Fourth Circle club tomorrow night, say, around ten?”

            “Where’s that?” Harley asked.

            “Weisman Street.”

            “Oh, okay!”

            “Though the Fourth Circle is frequented by some tough customers,” Ragdoll warned. “I wouldn’t go in unprepared.”

            “Ragsy.” Harley held up a pair of grenades. “I can take care of myself just fine.”

            “Could you identify Firefly by his face alone?”  
            “I’ve seen his mugshot enough times, yeah.”

            “He’ll be there,” Ragdoll promised. “I think you’ll be very pleased with his work. I know I always am.”

            “Thanks for the tip!” Harley said enthusiastically. She folded her purse shut. “Well, I’m full up on jewelry. What about you?”

            Ragdoll clasped his satchel shut. “I’ve got all I can carry. I suppose this is until we meet again, then?”

            “Yeah!” Harley nodded enthusiastically.

            Ragdoll put up a hand to wave. “Toodles!”

            “WAIT!”

            Ragdoll didn’t move after Harley screeched. His goodbye had caused her to realize why she’d found his voice so familiar. “You’re Peter!” Harley gasped. “Peter with the hot guy!”

            “Guilty as charged,” Ragdoll admitted. “I told you you’d been a great help.”

            Harley sighed. “Was there anybody who called into my show who wasn’t a wanted criminal?”

            “I think I’ve heard Killer Moth call in to Heart 2 Heart a few times,” Ragdoll suggested.

            “That ain’t helpin’,” Harley moaned. “So? Did you tell him how you feel?”

            “Not yet.”

            “Well, WHY NOT?”

            Ragdoll shrugged as best he could while holding the overflowing satchel. “Perhaps we have something good enough as is, and I don’t want to end it when we’ve barely begun. Don’t worry. I’m careful not to overstep the boundaries of friendship. I just wouldn’t want him to call it off over something as insignificant as this.”

            “You ain’t treatin’ it like it’s insignificant, Ragsy. Or should I call ya ‘Peter’ now?”

            “In privacy, either one. But please do try and preserve what anonymity I have left should there be others around.”

            “Gotcha.” Harley nodded. She had already put two and two together to make four, but now she wanted to see if she could add up to six. “Wait a minute. Gar’s an ARSONIST. You said your guy was LITERALLY the hottest guy in Gotham.” She looked Ragdoll dead in the eye. “Is Gar your hot guy?”

            “Maybe he is,” Ragdoll said teasingly. “Maybe he isn’t. I’ll never tell.” If his mask had offered a view to his eyes, Harley was sure she would have seen him winking. Then, without another word, he bent over backward, lay one hand on the floor while clutching the satchel with the other, kicked the door open with his airborne feet, and tumbled out into the street.

            Harley had her suspicions, but knew it was best to let the mystery of Ragdoll’s hot guy remain a mystery. She knew bringing it up to Firefly himself would be a mistake, even given her track record. Though it didn’t mean she couldn’t drop hints.

            But first and foremost, she was interested in Firefly’s professional talents. Hynden Bennett was about to take a great fall.

* * *

 

            Garfield slumped into his couch, swiped the remote control off a nearby table, and began flicking through the channels of his television for anything remotely entertaining. He would have missed the note completely if not for the sudden sense that there was something new in his peripheral vision that hadn’t usually been there. Looking to the window, he saw the sheet of paper taped to the outside, text facing inward.

            “What the…” Garfield crossed the room to get a better look at the paper:

            “New job for you! Fourth Circle, ten p.m. –R.D.”

            Garfield shook his head and smiled. It looked like he had somewhere to be.

 

* * *

 

            Harley arrived at the Fourth Circle in a short pink dress, already liking the feeling of the thumping of the bass from within. This seemed like a place one could have a fun time, danger notwithstanding. Her purse, draped over her shoulder, carried several grenades in case of trouble as well as a host of jewelry meant to serve as payment for her request.

            Entering the club, Harley knew she had to resist temptation to get caught up in the dancing. She most certainly hadn’t come here to dance…though she really wanted to. Perhaps later.

            Garfield wasn’t hard to find. He leaned against the wall, set apart from the crowd. Harley, spying him and knowing him as the one she was looking for, headed directly for him. “Hey, Firefly!” she called out, waving.

            Garfield flinched. Was this the new client Ragdoll had referred him to? They usually didn’t greet him like that. “Maybe I know him,” he answered as Harley got closer. “Maybe I – “

            “C’mon, Gar, you’re pretty recognizable,” Harley interrupted.

            Garfield nodded. No point in denying his identity at that point. “So. You have a job for me?”

            Harley nodded enthusiastically. “Ragsy told you about me?”

            “He told me somebody had something for me,” Garfield replied. “He didn’t exactly give specifics. C’mon. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

            As the pair sought out an empty table, Harley decided to try dropping a few hints. “You and Ragsy must be pretty close, huh?”

            “Close? Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

            “He’s a real sweetie pie, ain’t he?”

            Garfield nearly laughed. “Are…we talking about the same Ragdoll? I mean, sure, he has his moments, but he’s kind of a jerk. At least he’s the entertaining kind of jerk. Why are you so interested in him, anyway? You into him or something?”

            “Aw, no,” Harley said with a dismissive wave. “I’m a taken woman. Just makin’ conversation, is all.”

            Harley and Garfield sat down across from each other. “So I’m guessin’ you already know me,” Harley began.

            “Uhhhh…” Garfield shook his head. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you in my life.”

            “Really?” Harley was disappointed. “Harley Quinzel? Host of Heart 2 Heart?”

            “Wait, wasn’t that that show where people would call in about their love lives?” Garfield realized. “Sorry. Not my scene.”

            Harley’s suspicions grew ever more prevalent. If Garfield wasn’t a viewer of Heart 2 Heart, he would have completely missed Peter calling in to discuss the mysterious “hot guy,” and that meant he would have been completely oblivious to the whole saga. If Peter had known about this, it might have encouraged him to feel safer trusting Harley to advise him via phone without worrying that Garfield would find out. “Well, you heard how the whole thing went bust, right?”

            “Not…really?” Garfield answered, still perplexed. “Didn’t you go crazy or something? No offense.”

            “None taken,” Harley replied. “I know I’m crazy. I like to think it’s part of my charm. Anyway, I made a few little mistakes, and they absolutely ruined me for it. So now I’m runnin’ in your circle.”

            “You’re a wanted criminal?”

            “Yeah. Though I’m ‘Harley Quinn’ now.”

            “Well, I can say this much for you,” Garfield told her with a grin. “You’ve got great taste in puns.”

            “Actually, my puddin’ picked out the name for me,” Harley admitted. “It’s just that Joker brand of quirky, ain’t it?”

            If Garfield had been drinking anything, said drink would have been ejected all over the table. “Your boyfriend is JOKER?”

            “Yeah. Why’s everyone so surprised by that all the time?”

            “Because I didn’t know that guy could keep a steady girlfriend without trying to kill her,” Garfield replied, still in disbelief.

            “Don’t tell me he tried to throw you in the river too!” Harley groaned.

            “He tried to throw you in the RIVER?”

            “No, no, no! He would never do that to me! It was…y’know, never mind.”

            “Okay, so, question,” Garfield brought up. “If you’re involved with JOKER, what do you need ME for?”

            “Well…” Harley shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. J gets wrapped up in his work, you see. He’s real busy, so when I need somethin’ done for myself, I gotta do it myself most of the time. Make sense?”

            “Yeah…” Garfield was as skeptical of Harley’s relationship choices as Peter had been, but decided not to pry further into it. “Back to the point. Whaddaya want me to burn down?”

            “Hynden Bennett’s cooking show!” Harley growled. “After I got fired, they gave my old time slot over to her, and she’s TERRIBLE! Everybody loves her even more than they loved me! How could they love her more than me? I gave happy endings to more love stories than you could shake a stick at! Anyway, Ragsy said you’d be the one to ask about doin’ somethin’ like this. I’d sabotage her myself, but I have no idea how to get past all that security and really do damage. What’s your secret, anyway?”

            “Get in quick,” Garfield responded, “get OUT quick, and wear a giant gas tank on your back. That’s pretty much the only way to go about it. Now, don’t go giving me competition now that you know my secret.”

            “I would never!” Harley gasped, momentarily missing Garfield’s joking tone. “Anyway, I can pay ya big time for this. Sorry it ain’t in cash, but…” After removing her grenades from her purse, she spilled the wealth of jewelry down over the table.

            “Holy…” Garfield’s eyes sparkled at the sight. “Y’know, I could probably wreck Bennett’s show AND the one after it for this ice.”

            “Just the one, please.”

            Garfield set about scooping the jewels into his duffle bag. “So. One overcooked professional chef. Got it.”

            “This means a real lot to me, Gar. I mean, I know you just do this kinda stuff for the money, but…”

            Garfield looked Harley dead in the eye. There was something about her that was just so easy to like. “Hey, it’s no problem. Besides, I don’t JUST do it for the money.”

            “It’s for the fun too, right?”

            “Exactly!” Garfield nodded enthusiastically.

            “Well, I better get goin’,” Harley stated. “Mr. J’ll be expectin’ me in a few minutes. I’m bettin’ he’s got some big plans.” She stood. “Hey…I was gonna get in one dance before I left. Wanna join me?”

            “I don’t dance,” Garfield stated flatly.

            Harley shrugged. “More dance floor for me!” She put up a hand to wave. “Bye-bye, now!” Then she disappeared into the crowd of dancers, bopping to the beat in a manner that wasn’t entirely complex but dripped with energy.

            Garfield dipped his hand into his bag, letting diamonds and emeralds pour through his fingers. He had just been set up for a very good time.

 

* * *

 

            Hynden Bennett walked onstage to a greater cheer than even Harley had ever been used to. “Good afternoon, lovelies!” the professional chef greeted. “I hope you’re all having a delicious day!” She took her place before a counter loaded with kitchen implements and ingredients. “Today, we’re going to be making caramel apple pie: a perfect warm treat for the middle of February!”

            The applause of the audience was cut short when Firefly burst through the back wall to hover over the set; now the studio audience’s reaction was a collective scream. “Somehow I knew you’d be happy to see me!” Firefly bragged.

            “IT’S YELLOW BEETLE!” one terrified audience member cried out.

            “…I hate literally all of you,” Firefly sighed. “So!” He clapped his hands and turned to Hynden’s counter. “What are we making today? Ohhhh, looks like apple pie! Well, you know what you gotta do first when making a pie.” He extended his wrist at the counter. “Preheat to 350 degrees!” A stream of flame burst from his wrist, and the counter was soon ablaze.

            Hynden screamed and bolted from the set as Firefly continued to spread flames about the scenery. He buzzed over toward a camera to give a quick aside; “Y’know, I never was a big fan of that Heart show, but I can already tell this show TANKS in comparison.” He then shoved the camera over; the camerawoman leaped out of the way before she could be crushed.

            It was the most fun Firefly had on a job in weeks, and when Harley and Peter would later catch the footage on the news in their respective safe houses, they would be in agreement that it was the best episode the cooking show had ever aired.


	4. Villains Among Us

If traveling through Gotham by air by day was breathtaking, traveling through Gotham by night, when it had been completely lit up like a constellation, was like a landscape from a dream. It was long past sundown when Firefly carried Ragdoll back from their latest escapade, and the sight of the glittering city from above had actually rendered the latter speechless.

            “Did I tell you or did I tell you?” Firefly laughed.

            As they neared Firefly’s apartment, the duo became aware of a new set of lights: flashing red and blue.

            “That better not be what I think it is,” Firefly groaned.

            “What do you think it is?” Ragdoll asked. “Because I think Gotham’s finest have figured out where you live.”

            “That is EXACTLY what’s happening.”

            Firefly landed several blocks away, and he and Ragdoll crept up on the scene from a back alley, watching from a safe distance, shrouded in shadows, as officers swarmed the building. Commissioner James Gordon stepped out of the front door, shaking his head. While neither Firefly nor Ragdoll was close enough to hear, they could guess at what he was saying: “He isn’t here. Stake the place out. He probably won’t turn up when he sees all this, but we might still get a lead if we wait.”

            “Are you wanted for anything?” Ragdoll asked.

            “Um, we’re both supposed to be locked up right now,” Firefly pointed out. “That’s enough.” Even though he was helmeted, Ragdoll could guess how forlornly he looked to the place he had once called home. “Guess I’m calling it quits on THAT place.”

            Ragdoll stepped a bit nearer to his companion in crime; he knew Firefly would need a place to stay for the night at least, and was this not a fortuitous happening to bring them closer still? “You know…I have a safehouse as well, and to my knowledge, it remains undiscovered. If you need somewhere to stay…”

            “You serious?” Firefly asked.

            “Dead serious.”

            “Taking you up on that,” Firefly said immediately. “No take-backs.”

            “No take-backs were intended. There’s room enough for the both of us. We may, however, want to get a move on before the search spreads out.”

            Firefly locked his arm around Ragdoll’s waist for takeoff. “Tell me the way. And try not to get distracted by all the shiny lights.” The pair blasted off into the air.

            “First,” Ragdoll directed, “you’re going to want to head east…”

 

* * *

 

            “…And we’re here.”

            Firefly removed his helmet in order to get a better look at what he was actually seeing. Once again, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. “When you said there was room for both of us…” He blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

            Ragdoll’s safehouse was completely luxurious. The living room was twice the size of Firefly’s previous one. A host of doors led to spare bedrooms and bathrooms. Small tables holding up pieces of modern art spangled the floor near the walls.

            “That one’s mine,” Ragdoll pointed out, indicating a door. “You can have that one.” He indicated an adjacent door.

            “No way.” Firefly opened said door to reveal a king-sized bed laden with pillows. “This is MINE?”

            “Didn’t I just say it was?”

            “How…how can you AFFORD this?”

            “I’m a very, VERY good thief,” Ragdoll replied smugly.

            Firefly checked out the nearest bathroom next. Marble countertops, lighted mirrors, and faucets that didn’t activate until he swiped his hand beneath them. “Peter Merkel,” he muttered, “are you even real?”

           He walked back out to the living room. “You weren’t kidding that there’d be enough room,” he remarked. “You won’t even notice I’m here, will you?”

            Oh, I’ll notice, Ragdoll thought. “The room’s yours as long as you need it. Or want it.”

            “Ehh, this is probably gonna be a one-night deal,” Firefly stated. “I’ll get on finding my own place tomorrow. That’s gonna be a pain. But for now…I am VERY tired.”

            Ragdoll gestured back toward the spare room with both arms. “Your suite awaits.”

            Firefly re-entered and flopped back down on the bed in full armor. “Can I just sleep like this?”

            “It’s none of my business.”

            “See you in the morning, Peter. And, uh…” Firefly pried himself up off the bed to turn and look Ragdoll in the eye, or at least the eyes of his hood. “Thanks.”

            “Sleep well, Garfield.” Ragdoll pulled the door shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

            Garfield really had intended to stay at Peter’s apartment for one night only. But after the first three days of not finding any new prospects that weren’t absolute dumps, he kept on returning. And after a week, his search became half-hearted and lackluster until he abandoned it entirely.

            At first, he and Peter simply shared space, entering and leaving on their own time, disappearing to their separate rooms as their schedules dictated. Then, one night saw them arriving back at the safehouse at the exact same time.

            “Score anything neat?” Garfield asked.

            “That depends.” Peter produced from his pocket a diamond the size of his fist. “Does this count as neat?”

            “Do you even have to ask?”

            “What about you? Lucrative business night?”

            “I have no idea whether there are actual plagiarists at Dark Night Rises Fiction Press, but one thing’s for sure: those manuscripts are in NO shape to get bound now.”

            As they entered the kitchen – Peter to set a pot of decaf coffee to boil and Garfield to jam three strands of red licorice into his mouth – Garfield muttered around the candy, “Are we actually home at the same time?”

            “Apparently,” Peter replied.

            “Y’know, since we’re both home and all, maybe we should, y’know, hang out for a bit,” Garfield suggested. There, he thought, was that so hard?  
            “I concur,” Peter replied calmly, though his inner monologue was anything but calm.

            “What do you do for fun, anyway?” Garfield asked. “Watch stupid game shows, yell the answers the idiots on them can’t get, and pig out on popcorn until one of us barfs?”

            “…Is that what you’re into?”

            Not ten minutes later, Garfield was stretched out on the leather couch while Peter was curled up in the adjacent chair in front of the large-screen television, each guarding his own bowl of popcorn (they had started out on the couch together, but Garfield had kicked Peter to his own piece of furniture after Peter had tried raiding Garfield’s bowl). As a contestant on the currently playing quiz show failed to name the lead actor of a summer blockbuster, Garfield lobbed a handful of popcorn at the screen; “It’s Jason Walch, you IDIOT.”

            Another misspoke the capital of Belgium, to which Peter groaned, “Is it REALLY so hard to remember BRUSSELS?”

            Someone else faltered on the first amendments of the Constitution, prompting both of them to growl “BILL. OF. RIGHTS.”

            “Who DOESN’T have that drilled into their head from high school?” Garfield added. He then noticed Peter had one hand held up. “Okay, what’s that for?”

            “High five for synchrony,” Peter answered. “We could actually complete it if you’d let me back on the couch.”

            Garfield protectively clutched his bowl. “I see right through your tricks. Why do you want MY bowl, anyway? You have your own bowl!”

            “I make my living stealing things, Garfield.”

            “Well, you’re not stealing my popcorn.”

            “This was a good idea,” Peter commented.

            “Why haven’t we done this before?” Garfield wondered out loud. “Well, we’re doing this again.”

 

* * *

 

            And they did, joining up on nights when neither was tied up in order to lounge in front of the television, find something to make commentary about, make small talk, and occasionally eat junk food. One night, they ended up staying up into the morning hours pointing out the flaws of some old black-and-white romance film.

            “Okay, it’s not like I actually give a darn about any of these characters,” Garfield sighed, “but this woman has worse taste in men than Harley Quinn.”

            “So I’m not the only one who was thinking it,” Peter replied.

            “It’s Joker,” Garfield reminded him. “I’m pretty sure everyone except Harley sees the problem with this.”

            “I wonder where she is now.”

            “Probably off Joker-gassing random civilians in the name of love,” Garfield guessed. “Unless Joker got sick of her and offed her already.”

            “He wouldn’t…would he?” Peter’s tone betrayed definite worry.

            Garfield started to feel a strange twist in his stomach brought on by the thought of Harley dead. “Probably not. Forget I said anything.”

            They silently, unanimously agreed to shrug off the thought.

            The couple onscreen engaged in a deep kiss, cuing the credits to roll, and Garfield responded with an exaggerated gagging noise.

            Peter figured now was as good a time as any to test the waters. “What’s turned you so against romance, anyway?”

            “Long story,” Garfield sighed. “It’s already three in the morning.”

            “Last night, you were out until six on a job. You’re just dodging the question.”

            “Yeah, I’m dodging the question,” Garfield confirmed. “It’s personal, okay? You don’t see me prying into your love life.”

            “Well, that’s just too bad,” Peter told him. “Because you’re completely missing out knowing about that person in Gotham whom I secretly admire.”

            Garfield shifted into more of a sitting position to look at Peter directly. “You’re kidding.”

            “I’m not kidding.” Peter fired a wink in Garfield’s direction.

            “Who is it?”

            “That’s personal, Garfield.”

            “It’s Catwoman, isn’t it? It HAS to be Catwoman.”

            “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.”

            “You HAVE to tell me,” Garfield insisted. “I’ll tell you who ruined relationships for me.”

            “Oh, really?”

            Garfield took a deep breath, then let it out slowly in preparation for his confession: “Mr. Freeze.”

            That caught Peter off guard. He’d convinced himself that Garfield was exclusively straight. “I hadn’t realized your tastes ran that way.”

            “To guys, to villains, or to walking blizzards?”  
            “To men, though I suppose natural phenomena is similarly applicable.”

            “I swing both ways,” Garfield clarified. “Guys, girls…this is WAY too much information for three in the morning.”

            “I’m not judging.”

            “Anyway, I took this job with Freeze once,” Garfield explained. “It started out just being about the money, but then, I dunno, something about him kinda just pulled me in. So I started kinda teasing and flirting with him, and every single time, he would shut me down and yap at me about the work I was supposed to be doing, which I was DOING, because I’m a PROFESSIONAL and I don’t MESS AROUND. Of course, Freeze was convinced I was just slacking off at every angle. Anyway, we got busted by the Bat, and I told Freeze I had it under control, and he ice-blasted me into a wall. And that’s when it hit me. The whole time, I had him on this pedestal of being this total hottie who was my kind of evil, and maybe I thought he was the one. But all he ever saw in me was a tool to get his work done, and if I messed up, I was less than worthless to him. He probably would’ve been better off programming a robot to set fires. Anyway…after that, I was just kinda…done. I went off on him, we broke up…the alliance, I mean; he never knew how I actually felt about him…and I decided I wasn’t falling for that again. From anybody.” He then gave a deflating sigh. “Actually, the one with worse taste in men than Harley might be me.”

            Peter took a moment to choose his words carefully: “That isn’t entirely true. One can see a certain appeal in – “

            “One can see he was using me from day one is what.” Garfield leaned his head back on the arm of the couch. “Y’know, for a pyro, I do not understand why I’m the one who gets burned.”

            “Well, what’s done is done.” Peter shrugged. “I’m certain that should you ever want to get back in the game, there are plenty of villains out there who would appreciate you and your talents for what they are.”

            “Now I know we’re up too late,” Garfield teased. “You’re being weirdly nice.”

            “Did you want me to steal anything important of Freeze’s, by the way? Or I could try other forms of sabotage. In case you didn’t leave him with a good enough parting gift.”

            “Okay, now THAT’S the Peter I’m used to.” Garfield tilted his head back up and smiled. “Anyway, I may be a torch for hire, but I am NOT letting anyone walk over me like that again. Okay. I told you mine. Now you have to tell me yours.”

            “When did I agree to that?” Peter asked smugly.

            Garfield’s face fell. “You said if I told you why I don’t do relationships – “

            “I never said that,” Peter informed him. “You made that conclusion on your own. And I wasn’t going to correct you.”

            “WHAT?”

            Garfield just gaped as Peter’s smile took on its most smug demeanor.

            “Peter Merkel,” Garfield growled, “you’re a JERK.” He grabbed a throw pillow off the couch and hurled it at Peter’s head.

            Peter just let it collide with him before breaking down into high-pitched laughter.

            “I’m going to bed,” Garfield muttered, prying himself off the couch. “Jerk.”

            “Garfield?” Peter called out as Garfield stormed toward his room.

            “WHAT?” Garfield cried in exasperation, turning back toward Peter.

            “It’s Freeze’s loss, really.”

            Garfield had no idea what to make of that. “Okay,” he relented, “you’re not a COMPLETE jerk. But you’re still a jerk.” He turned back to his room. “Night.”

            “Sleep well, Garfield.”

            “Nyeh.”

            Peter remained where he was for a while. Garfield had given him a lot to consider. He finally knew the answer to a question that had been on his mind since they’d first met. He’d never had a strong opinion on Mr. Freeze one way or the other, but he now had the feeling the man should at the very least meet with some aggravating karma.

            And now he knew that if Garfield ever did decide he wasn’t disillusioned with love, Peter had a chance.

 

* * *

 

            Laying awake in bed, Peter wondered yet again if there would be any harm in letting Garfield in on his little secret after all. They were close. Surely Garfield would understand.

            But it was as Peter had told Harley. If Garfield did indeed find it too awkward to be able to do business with someone who was obviously attracted to him, their partnership was over. And Peter wasn’t about to risk losing what relationship they did have.

            Yes. It was better, he thought as he rolled over and drifted to sleep, that his mouth stayed shut on the subject.

 

* * *

 

            “So I hope you don’t mind that I basically live here now,” Garfield muttered around a mouthful of potato chips while he lay on the couch.

            “It’s a little late to ask me that now, don’t you think?” Peter teased from his position on the chair.

            “You’ve got almost everything a guy could want here,” Garfield pointed out. “And besides, I kind of like being around somebody I can trust as a business partner. EVEN IF I CAN’T TRUST HIM TO STAY OUT OF MY PERSONAL BUSINESS.”

            “I still maintain you walked into that on your own,” Peter reminded him smugly. “Also, ‘almost’ everything? I thought I’d made sure to have absolutely every comfort a person could want. Don’t tell me I’ve somehow failed to steal SOMETHING.”

            “Eh, it’s just probably not something you’re that into,” Garfield explained. “I just usually kill my spare hours on video games, and I’m betting the commish has all of mine in an evidence locker right now.”

            “I’d ask what console you preferred, but it’s not as if it matters.”

            “Why?”

            “Because,” Peter replied all too happily, “we have an ice cream truck. We can fill it with one of everything. I’m not doing anything tonight; what do you think?”

            “Okay, not gonna lie,” Garfield replied, “there was actually a specific game I was waiting for that came out this week. I have nothing else to do, so if you’re in…”

            Exchanging a quick glance, the pair hustled to suit up for their next robbery.

 

* * *

 

            The ice cream truck pulled into the back lot of Gotham’s premier toy and electronic store. A quick survey revealed the lot was deserted, indicating the store probably was as well. Firefly burst from the back door, and by the time Ragdoll had caught up to him, he was already searing a hole in the store’s rear wall. This led them to the back storeroom, where one of every game console currenty on the market was lined up for the taking, and take them, Firefly and Ragdoll did, shuttling them out to the ice cream truck and coming back for more.

            Firefly buzzed onto the sales floor, shattering the game display cabinet to pluck a copy of anything that looked interesting out of it. As he pored over the selection, he was suddenly aware of the sound of a bicycle horn. Sure he was about to look over at the source of the noise and see Ragdoll testing out the bikes on display, he groaned, “Real mature, R.D. – “

            He was seized by the arm and dragged across the sales floor. “That was not me,” Ragdoll informed Firefly. “We’re hiding.”

            “Where are you – “ Firefly twisted around to see exactly the hiding spot Ragdoll had in mind for both of them. “Um, no. R.D., no.”

            “Ragdoll, yes.” Ragdoll dumped Firefly into a large basin-shaped display filled with life-sized teddy bears. Firefly was only just able to arrange the giant plush animals to cover himself and his armor; Ragdoll was able to slip into the display a lot more inconspicuously. Firefly found himself all the more confused when Ragdoll withdrew a small blade from a hidden pocket and started carving a tear in the back of one of the bears.

            “What are you doing?” Firefly hissed.

            Ragdoll didn’t answer. Instead, when he’d finished his work, he simply slipped inside the bear.

            “You are going to suffocate in there!” Firefly insisted quietly.

            “You’re not my mother” was the muffled reply from inside the bear.

            Firefly edged one of the teddy bears’ limbs out of the way just enough to get a view of what was happening. Joker had struck the store on the same night, and came pedaling into view on a tricycle, honking the horn with an expression of malicious glee. Aboard a glittery two-wheeler with ribbons on the handles, Harley Quinn followed him, her smile a lot more earnest.

            “You’re not gonna believe this,” Firefly whispered. “It’s Joker and Harley.”

            A wave of relief washed over Firefly and Ragdoll to know that after all this time without having seen her, they could verify Harley wasn’t dead. Seeing Joker was a far less pleasant ordeal.

            Joker dismounted the trike, walking around back to a red wagon that had been tied to the back of it. This wagon contained what looked like professionally packaged toys, but as each one was built to resemble the Joker himself, they obviously hadn’t been sanctioned by any major toy company. “We’re almost there, Harley!” Joker cackled, lifting up one of the toy Jokers. “By this time tomorrow, my little Joker dolls will be in every household in Gotham, and after they’ve worked their magic, they should have convinced all of the little children to bring all the valuables of their household to us!”

            “I dunno,” Harley remarked, dismounting her bike and putting up the kickstand. “It still don’t seem quite right to me, pickin’ on kids. Can’t we find a way to hypnotize grown-ups instead?”

            “Are you questioning me?” Joker growled.

            “No, no…” Harley put up both hands and backed up a step. “After all, we’re just hypnotizin’ ‘em, right? Not hurtin’ ‘em?”  
            “Because in this plan, they’re no use to me hurt,” Joker reminded her.

            “This isn’t me questionin’ you either,” Harley continued, “but I just worry that kids won’t wanna buy anything that reminds ‘em of you.”

            “Nonsense!” Joker laughed. “Kids these days love villains!”

            “Well…” Harley recalled, “I do know somebody who said he was real into villains when he was a kid, so I guess ya got a point.”

            The teddy bear Ragdoll was hiding in reached back and nudged Firefly with one paw. Firefly took that to mean Ragdoll knew exactly who Harley was referring to.

            “Hey, wait a minute…” Harley noticed the broken video game case. “Why’s this all busted?” She reached in, plucking out a copy of the very game Firefly had wanted. “Hey, I’ve been waitin’ on this one!”

            “Stop wasting time!” Joker commanded Harley. “Now get these on the shelf!”

            “You got it, Mr. J!” Harley scooped several of the Joker dolls up into her arms.

            Then yet another intruder arrived on the scene: “Put those down, Harley. I think we both know you don’t want to use them.”

            Harley dropped the load she was carrying out of shock; Joker was more disgruntled than startled. “Batsy,” Joker growled as he turned to see the Batman standing behind them. “What an unwelcome surprise.”

            “And don’t forget me,” Robin stated, stepping forward. “Because two versus one just isn’t a fair fight. So, what’re you trying to do now? Are those things rigged to explode or something?”

            “That’s none of YOUR business!” Joker snarled. “Though, I suppose if you really want to find out…” He ripped open the packaging of one of the dolls and threw it at Robin. “Do you feel LUCKY?”

            Robin yelped and darted out of the doll’s trajectory; Batman stepped in front of it and smacked it off course. It clattered harmlessly to the floor.

            “Catch me if you can, Batsy!” Joker swiped a skateboard off the wall display, and, gathering a plethora of Joker dolls up into his arms, he leapt onto the board, taking off into the depths of the store with a mad laugh.

            “WAIT, PUDDIN’!” Harley tried to run after the skateboarding Joker. “WAIT FOR ME!”

            Joker didn’t even give a backward glance as the Batman and Robin stepped into Harley’s path.

            “I can handle Harley,” Robin stated. “You go after Joker.”

            The Batman nodded, then turned and sprinted in the direction of Joker’s getaway.

            “I didn’t really wanna hurt a kid,” Harley told Robin.

            “That’s okay,” Robin told her, punching his open palm. “You’re not gonna.” His expression softened; “Though I didn’t wanna hit a girl.”

            “That’s okay!” Harley, looking around, decided to be resourceful and grab a baseball bat off a shelf. “You ain’t gonna!”

            She took a swing at Robin; he expertly dodged the blow. Grabbing his own baseball bat, Robin twirled it like a staff, then parried the next hit from Harley, which came down hard. They continued bat-to-bat combat for a while.

            “Now?” the muffled voice came from the teddy bear.

            “Yeah,” Firefly agreed. “Now.”

            As Robin and Harley dueled, neither of them noticed that one of the gigantic teddy bears had apparently gotten up of its own volition and was running full speed at the pair; they became aware of the bear when it began to slam its paws down hard on Robin. “Ow, ow!” Robin yelped. “Cut that out!”

            The bear shoved Robin completely over before Ragdoll discarded his plush new skin, dumping it on top of Robin as a parting gift. “You’re the only child I’ve ever seen get beaten up by a teddy bear,” he remarked. “That’s for the air duct during the Team Penguin robbery, by the way.”

            “Get back!” Firefly warned as he soared overhead, dumping a line of giant plush animals in front of Robin. Ragdoll, sensing what he was about to do, grabbed Harley by the wrist and began to run with her, toward the back wall, as far away from the line of plushies as possible. As soon as Robin had gotten up, Firefly set the first stuffed animal in the chain alight, and they became a blazing wall of flaming fur blocking the young superhero off from the three villains. Firefly quickly swooped back to his now-useless hiding place to grab his stockpile of games before zooming after Ragdoll and Harley. Ragdoll, in his usual fashion, made sure to look back over his shoulder at Robin – who was trying to figure out a safe way past the wall of fire – and call out “TOODLES!”

            “And he thought TWO on one wasn’t fair,” Firefly chuckled.

            “Thanks, you guys!” Harley gushed earnestly. “Mr. J ain’t gonna be happy about this one.”

            “We’ll worry about that later,” Ragdoll decided.

            “For now, let’s just get outta here!” Firefly insisted.

            “What about Mr. J?” Harley worried.

            “Is he ever NOT fine?” Firefly grumbled.

            “Yeah…he can hold his own,” Harley confirmed. “All right. Let’s make like a tree already!”

            In almost no time, Harley, Ragdoll, and Firefly had escaped through the portal in the back wall and boarded the ice cream truck. Ragdoll practically floored it, and the truck took off like a rocket through the Gotham streets, charting a course of double-backs and misleads in case of followers.

            “I’ll say this much for Joker,” Firefly commented. “He does make a great diversion.”

            “Y’know, it’s kinda funny how we keep endin’ up robbin’ the same places,” Harley pointed out. She then got a look at the games Firefly was carrying, plucking the one she’d been interested in from his arms. “Hey! I wanted this one!”

            “That’s why we decided to save you,” Firefly told her. “You’ve got good taste.”

            “I coulda taken care of myself back there, just so we’re clear,” Harley insisted.

            “We know,” Ragdoll responded. “Just thought we’d do things the easy way for once.”

            “So where are we goin’?” Harley asked.

            “Well, we have a safehouse,” Ragdoll explained. “But you have to swear not to breathe a word of it to Joker.”

            “Cross my heart and hope to die,” Harley stated, and she meant it. Even she knew that letting Joker know where her friends called home wasn’t a good idea. She firmly believed Joker was too fond of her to harm her, but if he ever had anything against Ragdoll or Firefly, she didn’t quite trust him to leave them alone if she asked.

            “In that case,” Ragdoll informed her, “we’re going home.”

 

* * *

 

            “THIS is your HOME?” Harley was flabbergasted as she cast her gaze around the enormous apartment.

            “I’m still waiting until it turns out to be a greenscreen projection,” Garfield told her.

            “But how are you…” Harley pointed to this and that. “How did you…”

            “I’m a VERY good thief,” Peter reiterated.

            “So what happens now?” Firefly asked. “I’m guessing you gotta head back to Joker’s place once the heat dies down.”

            “Yeah, well, the heat’s gonna be on for a while,” Harley pointed out. “The Bat’s gonna be lookin’ for us all night. Particularly Mr. J. Probably ain’t safe to head back for a couple more hours. You guys mind if I…?”

            “Stay here?” Peter filled in. “I think I speak for Garfield when I say we’d be honored to host a celebrity guest.”

            “Aw, you guys, you know I’m not a celebrity anymore!” Harley replied with a shy wave of her hand.         

            “You can do whatever you want,” Garfield told her, holding up the game he’d stolen. “But I spent way too long hiding in a bucket of teddy bears to get this, and I’m not gonna waste it now.”

            “Well, I’m on board with that!” Harley cried. “I hear this one’s finally supposed to answer most of the questions from the last one!”

            “Fine by me, so long as I just get to kick some monster butt,” Garfield replied. “Dibs on the controller for the first half hour.”

            “Dibs on the next half hour,” Harley called. “That puts Peter third. Peter…you have played these, right?”  
            “This would be my first,” Peter confirmed.

            “WHAT?” Harley’s jaw dropped. “Well, then, we gotta catch you up on all the story first before we just throw you into this one! Okay, so it starts out with this guy – “

            “Are you really going to try and give him all the lore in ten minutes?” Garfield stated skeptically.

            “Twenty, tops,” Harley stated. “You can time me. So anyway – “

            “We’re also going to need popcorn for this,” Garfield muttered, heading to the kitchen to procure a batch.

            After a lot of exposition, the passing around of popcorn, and the warning of Harley to keep her bowl a good distance away from Peter unless she wanted him to deplete half of it, the three settled down to begin playing the newly acquired game. It was four in the morning before Harley stated, “It’s probably safe to go back now, and Mr. J’s gonna be waitin’. But thanks for lettin’ me stay. Would ya mind if I maybe came back sometime? To tell you the truth, I kinda missed both you guys.”

            Neither wanted to admit that they’d missed Harley too. “Just be sure to come alone,” Peter insisted.

            “Readin’ ya loud and clear!” Harley said with a nod.

            Then she left, getting herself good and lost among the bright Gotham lights.


	5. Beware the Rumor

Peter, Garfield, and Harley were careful to be quiet and not attract attention as they made their way up to Peter’s apartment; one never knew who was listening in outside the walls of the safehouse. Once they reached the security of the apartment, however, they burst into laughter and cheering, taking the cash they’d earned at the Fourth Circle for a recent job out of their respective carrying cases and running it through their fingers.

            “Okay, I know I was skeptical,” Garfield said at last, “but Harley, you really came through with the clutch.”

            “Only ‘cause Peter said keepin’ the baseball bat was a good idea,” Harley stated. “I guess you could say that security guard didn’t know what HIT him!”

            “Well, let’s not forget about Garfield’s ingenious diversion of setting the entire fourth floor on fire,” Peter brought up. “They practically let us walk in after that.”

            Garfield began to crack up with laughter. “Peter…the look on that one guy’s face after you came out of that tiny cardboard box…”

            “So I take it we’re all in for the gem depository job on Sunday?” Peter reminded his friends.

            “Wait,” Harley replied. “THIS Sunday?” She adopted an expression of worry.

            “Yeah, this Sunday,” Garfield insisted. “Trying to get in there on a weekday is impossible, and I’m not waiting a whole other week to try and pull this one off.”

            “But…I can’t,” Harley pouted.

            “Why not?” Peter and Garfield asked as one.

            “Because Mr. J and I are supposed to…well…he doesn’t really like me discussin’ his top-secret plans with anybody else,” Harley sighed. “But we’ve got a big plan, and it’s gotta be this Sunday.”

            “Harley,” Garfield sighed, “the gem depository is a three-person job. We already scripted it out. We NEED you for this.”

            “Can’t you find another villain for the job?” Harley asked apologetically.

            “In theory,” Peter replied, “but it will be considerably less fun.”

            “I didn’t mean to let you guys down,” Harley moaned, “but…I can’t really explain it. You kinda gotta be in love to get why it matters so much.”

            “Well, Peter’s still got that secret crush he won’t tell anybody about,” Garfield brought up. “So I’m guessing he gets it.”

            “Secret crush?” Harley fired Peter a wink. “Oh, REALLY now?”

            “Still not telling who,” Peter said enigmatically.

            “It HAS to be Catwoman,” Garfield stated confidently. Then, a little less confidently, “Right?”

            “I’ve got a theory,” Harley said, “but I’m keepin’ it all to myself.”

            Garfield sighed in frustration. “Anyway, I guess we COULD put off the depository – “

            “Oh, no, no!” Harley insisted. “Don’t hold back just because of me! Find somebody else and go have fun!”

            “Yeah, but we invited you because you’re our friend,” Garfield groaned. “We don’t actually HAVE any other friends. We would have given you an equal three-way split of the profits, but if it’s going to be someone else, we have to find some lackey who will work for a small cut, will take orders from both of us, and has just enough skill to be useful but not enough that he can think he’s better than any of us.”

            “You know who that sounds like?” Peter asked, a wicked twinkle in his eye.

            “Oh, no.” Garfield realized who he was thinking of. “Peter, NO.”

            “Peter, yes.”

 

* * *

 

            “I just wanted to say thanks so much to both of you guys for asking me to be on your team,” Killer Moth stated sincerely. “Even now that I’m a moth monster, people still don’t wanna work with me for some reason.”

            “Can’t imagine why,” Firefly replied, deadpan.

            Firefly, Ragdoll, and Killer Moth had set up in an out-of-the-way warehouse. It was agreed upon between the former two that Killer Moth absolutely had not earned the right to use the safehouse.

            “Now, as you know,” Ragdoll explained, rolling out the blueprints he’d acquired of the Gotham gem depository on a long table, “this is a highly delicate operation. Each of us has to know his mission and carry it out to the letter. Killer Moth – “

            “Yes, sir!”

            “I have a very important mission for you to kick this whole scheme off,” Ragdoll went on. “Listen to me very carefully. You will have to follow my instructions TO THE LETTER.”

            “Whatever you want, sir!” Killer Moth said excitedly. “I won’t let you down!”

            “You better not,” Ragdoll insisted.

            “Just tell me what I need to do!”

            Ragdoll stepped closer to Killer Moth, looking him dead in the multifaceted eye. “What I need you to do,” he said in a serious tone, “is go to the coffee shop around the corner and bring us back one latte and one decaf caramel frappuccino.”

            “…Okay,” Killer Moth stated, sounding rather defeated at the realization that he was once again reduced to coffee gofer. “Coming right up.” He turned and left the warehouse in a flurry of wings.

            “It always catches me off guard that you’re a decaf guy,” Firefly admitted. “When I first met you, I was sure most of your…you-ness was a product of caffeine. What are you even LIKE on caffeine?”  
            “I don’t know,” Ragdoll replied with a wicked grin. “Should we find out?”

            “…I think we’re good for now.”

            “Well, we have precious little time before he returns,” Ragdoll pointed out. “Time to get all the talking about him behind his back we can out of our system.”

            “R.D., he is a LOSER.”

            “But he is obedient. And cheap.”

            “Y’know,” Firefly teased, “since he’s not here, you could tell me who your secret crush is and he’ll never know.”

            “Hmm…don’t think I will.”

            “I mean, I know it can’t be MOTH,” Firefly laughed. Then he was struck with curiosity; “…IS it Moth?”

            “Maybe it is,” Ragdoll replied enigmatically.

            “It’s MOTH?”

            “I never said it was.”

            “So it’s not Moth.”

            “It could be.”

            “R.D.!”

            “I take it you still think it’s unfair that I now know your sordid history with Mr. Freeze and didn’t give you any juicy personal secrets in return,” Ragdoll suggested. “Will it pacify you if I tell you a different secret?”  
            “What kind of secret?” Firefly asked, interest piqued.

            “Something even more personal than the identity of the elusive secret crush,” Ragdoll promised. And, he realized, something that was probably a romantic relationship deal-breaker in a lot of cases, but with so many other things standing in the way of him ever being attached to Firefly, he hadn’t even wanted to consider that Firefly might balk at it. Once it was out in the open, it would probably just prove that they were better off friends anyway.

            “Hit me,” Firefly urged.

            “Well, you see…”

 

* * *

 

            The customers of Arrows Coffee were on the whole enjoying an average day, utilizing the shop’s wi-fi connection and watching cars pass through the wide front windows. When Killer Moth landed before the shop and barged right through the wall, the crowd was immediately thrown into an instant panic; screams rang out, and coffees were dropped as people rushed for the door.

            “IT’S KILLER MOTH!” someone yelled.

            “HE’S HERE TO KILL US ALL!” someone else screamed.

            “RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”

            Killer Moth advanced upon the counter, where the barista was frozen in place, quivering before the enormous insect. “C-C-C-Can I help you?” the terrified man asked.

            “Yeah,” Killer Moth replied. “I’d like a latte and a decaf caramel frappuccino, please.”

            “Sure,” the barista agreed. “On the house.”

            In only a few moments, Killer Moth left Arrows with a tray containing the requested coffee orders. “Maybe after this, they’ll actually let me help with the plan,” he muttered to himself.

            He tried to walk carefully as opposed to flying, clutching the tray as best he could with his insectoid appendages. Still, upon turning one corner, he tripped, dropping and spilling both coffees all over the pavement. “Aw, man,” he groaned. “Now I gotta go back and order these all over again!”

            He heard a very slight sound, like the subtle steps of feet on the nearby pavement, but when he had righted himself and looked to see from whence the noise had come, there was no one to account for it.

            “Weird,” he muttered to himself.

            The blow to the back of the head came so quickly that he wasn’t even aware it had happened.

 

* * *

 

            “…No,” Firefly said in complete and utter shock after Ragdoll had revealed his secret. “No way. You’re making that up.”

            “I am absolutely not making it up,” Ragdoll confirmed, smile as wide as ever.

            “So you really don’t have a…”

            “Nope!”

            “Or…”

            “Definitely not.”

            Firefly removed his helmet, pointing to his face, which was frozen in an absolutely bowled-over expression. “I just need you to see that this is my face right now. How do you even…if you don’t…WHY? Okay, yeah, that’s my first question! WHY would you get rid of them?”

            Ragdoll shrugged. “They were in the way. I should think it would be obvious that doing what I do is much easier without them.”

            “You know what?” Firefly realized. “I had WONDERED about that sometimes. How you dealt with that getting into all those weird positions. This…explains a few things.” He shook his head. “So…wait. Does this mean that whole secret crush thing was made up?”

            “No. That’s real.”

            “But if you can’t…you know…”

            “I didn’t have my HEART surgically removed, Firefly.”

            “But you can’t do it with whoever it is. And this doesn’t bother you.”

            “Not a bit.”

            Firefly just stared at him, still in disbelief.

            “Do I REALLY have to explain the difference between being asexual and being aromantic to you, Firefly?” Ragdoll asked.

            “No,” Firefly answered. “I’m still not convinced you didn’t just make this up to have a secret to tell me.”

            “I could show you if you REALLY wanted.”

            “I’m good on that front, really,” Firefly said quickly. “The more I think about it, the more I realize I have no idea why you’d even make something like that up.” He replaced his helmet to disguise the fact that his glance occasionally shot downward to see if he could confirm Ragdoll’s outlandish claim without actually having to see the dirty details. “So, uh…Moth’s been gone a long time.”

            “He probably got lost trying to find Arrows,” Ragdoll guessed. “I really wouldn’t put it past him.”

            “Neither would I, but…you don’t think that one guy from the rumors got him, do you?”

            “What rumors, exactly?”

            “You haven’t heard?” Firefly was taken aback. “EVERYONE at the Fourth Circle’s been talking. There’s been some new guy going after Gotham’s bad guys. Except the thing is, when he gets them, they don’t go to jail and they don’t go to Arkham. They just…disappear.”

            “This sounds like a bad ghost story,” Ragdoll commented.

            “They say the guy figured out some way to turn invisible,” Firefly went on. “He could be in this very room…right…now.” He paused for effect, staring directly at Ragdoll.

            After a short silence, Ragdoll asked, “Are you trying to scare me?”

            “Maybe. Are you scared?”

            “No.”

            “Anyway,” Firefly concluded, “those are just the rumors.” He bent to look over the blueprints. “Okay. So basically what we have to figure out here is which end of the building it makes more sense for ME to break into and which one it makes more sense for MOTH to break into. Two of us can fly, so it might make more sense if we move the whole thing to an aerial – “

            He felt a heavy hand lay on his shoulder.

            Giving a scream, Firefly rounded on his assailant and pointed his wrist directly in his face. Of course, Ragdoll had taken advantage of Firefly’s diversion and the aftermath of his “scary story” to silently move behind him and scare him. “Boo,” he said teasingly.

            “R.D.,” Firefly growled, “have I told you lately that you’re a jerk?”  
            “It’s honestly worth repeating,” Ragdoll replied smugly.

            A box tipped over at the far end of the warehouse, and now both of them looked warily at the spot where it had fallen. They shook it off with a synchronized “Nah.”

            “But seriously, where’s Moth?” Firefly groaned. “I’m going to go see what’s taking him so long.”

            “Count me in,” Ragdoll volunteered.

            The pair stepped outside the warehouse, took two steps, and saw the tray of spilled coffee splattered on the pavement.

            “…Maybe it’s different coffee?” Firefly suggested.

            Ragdoll knelt over the spill and dragged a finger through it, and before Firefly could finish his “Aw, c’mon, R.D., DON’T,” he licked it. “That is definitely a decaf caramel frappuccino,” Ragdoll deduced.

            “So he ditched us,” Firefly theorized, not wanting to acknowledge the other possibility. “Who else are we going to find to rope into this heist on short notice?”

            “What if this was the work of your little rumor?” Ragdoll asked.

            “I really don’t want to think about that,” Firefly snapped.

            “Why not?” Ragdoll stood back up. “It isn’t as though there’s a vigilante out there the two of us can’t best.”

            “Well, it sure looks like there’s one out there who knocked out KILLER MOTH.”

            “You’re probably right about him leaving us high and dry,” Ragdoll resolved. “Perhaps making his first mission a coffee run wasn’t the smartest move.” He turned to head back to the warehouse, and Firefly followed, though he glanced over his shoulder more than once.

            “Okay,” Firefly sighed as he and Ragdoll re-entered their temporary sanctum. “So now, we need ANOTHER villain for hire. That, or we try to pull this off as a two-man job. Think we could?”

            “I suppose that all depends on – “

            Ragdoll cut himself off with an ear-splitting scream. Firefly’s blood ran cold as his friend toppled forward, unconscious, the crackling of electricity filling the air where he had stood.

            “PETER!” Firefly yelled without thinking. Then, as his fighting reaction kicked in, he aimed both wrists at the place where Ragdoll had stood, letting twin jets of flame fly.

            There was a slight sound as the invisible assailant leapt out of Firefly’s range, retreating further back into the warehouse.

            “Oh, so you wanna hide?” Firefly taunted. “Too bad I know you’re here.” He kept both wrists extended, shooting flames into the depths of the warehouse. “You wanna keep playing cat and mouse? Fine. I’ll just bring the whole house down on top of you.”

            A bright yellow light, serving as a crosshair, blinked into view on Firefly’s armor; Firefly didn’t miss it, and zipped out of the way just before an electric bolt could be fired at him. Opening fire on the direction from whence the bolt had come, Firefly scorched the concrete floor well. The “click” of a weapon alerted Firefly that his quarry had changed directions, and Firefly spun, keeping his flames alive. Over and over, one cue or another let him know where the invisible vigilante was hiding, and Firefly opened literal fire on him.

            Against a background of flames, Firefly called out, “You’re running out of places to hide! You can stay in the burning building if you want, but I’m taking my partner and leaving!”

            “Actually,” a gruff voice said from just behind Firefly, “I have one place left to hide. And I don’t think you can hit me from here.”

            “Oh yeah – “ Firefly whipped around to see Ragdoll suspended in midair by the wrists. The invisible attacker was using him as a shield. And Firefly, as his attacker had suspected, couldn’t fire on that.

            “Low. Blow,” Firefly growled.

            One of Ragdoll’s wrists dropped, and the invisible attacker quickly used his free hand to reach for a weapon. This time, Firefly wasn’t fast enough to escape. A pellet exploded in midair, carrying Firefly with it on the blast until he hit a wall and blacked out.

 

* * *

 

            When Ragdoll came to, he couldn’t make heads or tails of exactly where he was. He was enclosed in some sort of cell with transparent walls. Looking around, he could tell that his cell was one of a multitude, and other familiar famous faces from the Gotham underworld were visible in the other cells; Killer Croc was bound up in one of the adjacent enclosures. Looking up provided a view to a close transparent ceiling and a more faraway dark one that suggested a factory or a warehouse of some kind.

            Two questions stood out to Ragdoll. One: where was he? And two: where was Firefly?

            There were holes drilled in between the cells. For what purpose, Ragdoll didn’t know. Maybe communication. Maybe just for the airflow. Whatever the case, they were just large enough. Whoever had designed this prison had made a fatal mistake.

            Ragdoll quickly wormed through the aperture in the wall separating him from Killer Croc.

            “What’re you – “ Croc grumbled.

            “Just passing through,” Ragdoll replied innocently before squirming into the next cell.

            “What do YOU want?” a rather incensed Mr. Freeze asked.

            “Don’t mind me,” Ragdoll told him as he made his way into the next cell over.

            But a good deal of the cells were empty, and all of the empty cells looked exactly alike. Trying to chart a course through them, Ragdoll had no landmarks to go on besides the prisoners they contained, and he became turned around quite easily. Even worse, several times, he came across what must have been the walls of the warehouse itself, and there was no conceivable way out. Ragdoll had hypothesized that if his captor were careless enough to leave him a route between cells, there would be some exit somewhere that said captor hadn’t expected Ragdoll could utilize, but the outer walls seemed to be blank stone, no ducts, no doors. No way out.

            “Long time, no see,” he told Killer Croc on his first return visit to that cell.

            He lost track of time. How long had it been? He hadn’t even glimpsed Firefly. However, after what seemed like an infinity, a familiar streak of red and black flashed in his peripheral vision. At least he knew where Harley Quinn was.

            Harley was huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees. She hoped it wasn’t too visible that she was shaking. Her stomach was boiling as well, and she wasn’t sure what was worse: the circumstances she was in or the anxious symptoms that were creeping up on her. She closed her eyes and buried her head in her arms, praying her shakes would go away.

            “Well, well,” a comfortingly familiar voice broke into her sphere. “Imagine seeing a nice young lady like you in a place like this.”

            Harley’s head snapped up so she could visually confirm that Ragdoll was in fact standing in her cell. “RAGSY!” She was on her feet in a flash, and before even she registered what she was doing, she had practically tackled Ragdoll in a bone-crushing hug. Ragdoll’s first instinct was to return it with equal force, lifting Harley off the ground ever so slightly and spinning 360 degrees before setting her back down so she could let go.

            Harley immediately played it cool; “So the guy from the rumors got you too, huh?”

            “Apparently,” Ragdoll replied, looking as pensive as one could while still grinning. “You don’t know what this mysterious vigilante plans to DO with all of us here, do you?”

            “No idea,” Harley answered. “Maybe he’s just a collector.”

            “You think he’s a fan of our work?”

            Harley gave a dramatic shrug.

            Overhead, there was the sound of a door opening, and someone began to walk over top of the cells. “Get outta here!” Harley hissed. “If he finds out you’re movin’ cells, he’ll tie you up!” She gave Ragdoll a hard shove, and Ragdoll took the hint, flitting two cells over. Ragdoll glanced back at Harley from across the divide, and she pointed up at the ceiling. Both turned their gazes upward to behold a man clad in silver armor perched high on a catwalk above their heads.

            “I have bad news and I have worse news,” the vigilante known as Rumor announced.

            Well, then I better sit down, Ragdoll thought jokingly, and folded into a pretzel position.

            “The bad news is I’ve sentenced all of you to life,” Rumor went on. “The worse news is it’s going to be a very short sentence.”

            A chill ran down Ragdoll’s spine. So that was Rumor’s game. He wanted to kill everyone there. Would it be so hard, now that he had them all in one place? There were very few things Ragdoll feared, mostly because he wasn’t sure quite what could kill him. However, the thought of dying at all was the one thing that gave him pause. Of course this mysterious man would have a method figured out to kill him. Rumor had already captured him, which was no small feat. And where was Firefly? Had Firefly managed to escape? Or was he, too, lined up for the executioner’s block?

            “However,” Rumor continued, becoming invisible where he stood, “before I can carry it out, I still have a very special piece to add.”

            Feeling a lot more unstable than usual, Ragdoll stood slowly, staring forlornly at the catwalk. This could very well be the place where he was going to die. Him, possibly Firefly, and definitely…

            He looked across the way at Harley, who was leaning on the glass facing him, her hands pressed up to the wall. Her expression was absolutely heartbreaking, and as Ragdoll and Harley maintained eye contact, her frown only deepened, and the look in her eyes grew more hopeless.

            Ragdoll didn’t realize that her depression, already deep from hearing that she was sentenced to death, was deepened by looking at him. For Ragdoll wasn’t smiling. It wasn’t a momentary break, as he often had on the regular rollercoaster of emotions. As Harley looked at him, he couldn’t even muster up a false grin to cover up his fear. And when Ragdoll didn’t smile for that long, things were very, very wrong.

            Rumor took his leave, and Harley slid down the wall, back to a sitting position. It suddenly occurred to her who this “special piece” Rumor needed to acquire might be. She, Punch, and Judy were all in adjacent cells, surrounding the one empty one that Ragdoll occupied the other side of. Were they foreshadowing for the Joker’s special place in Rumor’s collection? Harley highly doubted they could lay a finger on her Mr. J…but then again, Rumor had already rounded up every hard-to-catch villain in the book save Clayface.

            The door upstairs slammed, and once Ragdoll was fairly certain Rumor was gone – he wouldn’t just close a door to make the others think he’d left so he could spy on them, would he? – he slipped back over into Harley’s cell. She slowly looked back up at him. The look of absolute dejection on his face was almost too much for her to stand. But she knew what she needed to say.

            “Go find Gar,” Harley whispered.

            “I’m not sure he’s here,” Ragdoll told her. “I’m rather hoping he isn’t.”

            “I gotta bad feeling he is,” Harley replied, her voice just as soft. “You gotta be with him right now if he is.”

            “What – “

            “You don’t have to pretend with me anymore,” Harley insisted. “I know he’s your guy. I know you love him. If we’re gonna go down…ya gotta be WITH him.” She forced a smile. “And tell him I said hi.”

            Ragdoll was hesitant to leave Harley, but he knew where he wanted to be, and it was exactly where she had said he should be. “Well, then,” he resolved, “I guess, this might be ‘toodles’ for the last time.”

            “See ya on the other side?” Harley suggested. If there even was another side.

            “It’s a plan.” And with that, Ragdoll was gone.

            Harley forced herself to keep her smile on. After all, if she was right, Joker would be there soon, and everything would be right.

            Ragdoll got himself lost again in the maze of transparent walls, passing Killer Croc for what must have been the twentieth time. Once again, time seemed to lose its definition. There were only walls after walls, and occasionally a glimpse of green here, or blue there, or yellow –

            Yellow.

            Ragdoll fixed his eyes on the point where he’d glimpsed the telltale color. About ten cells away, a figure dressed in yellow and black was slumped down against the floor and the wall. Ragdoll made a beeline for the sight, not sure if he was happy to have found Firefly or just horrified that Firefly had not, after all, escaped.

            He slithered into the cell, and it was indeed, finally, Firefly who sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall, fuel tank to the side, helmet off, head back, eyes closed. He didn’t even notice when Ragdoll entered. Ragdoll wondered for a moment why Firefly hadn’t tried to simply burn his way out of the cell. Then he saw the scorch marks on the wall. He had tried, and it hadn’t worked.

            “So, you too?” Ragdoll greeted, sliding into a sitting position next to Firefly against the wall.

            Firefly opened his eyes and turned to look at Ragdoll. “Hey, R.D.,” he grunted, looking utterly defeated. “Yeah. Me too. If not for lack of trying.”

            For a moment, a heavy silence passed between them. Neither knew exactly what to say under the circumstances. Ragdoll considered trying to muster up a forced smile and say something positive, or at least with the semblance of positivity, but he was fresh out of any bright side to put on the situation. “So this is how we go,” he remarked at long last.

            “Yeah,” Firefly replied. “Surprised you’re not skeptical he’s actually gonna do it.”

            “You think he’s not?”

            Firefly returned his gaze to the ceiling. “He totally is.”

            “Did you ever think it would end this way?” Ragdoll asked.

            “Nah,” Firefly answered. “I always thought if I went, I’d go out like I do my crimes: in flames. Something more impressive than…this. What about you?”

            “I never really entertained the thought,” Ragdoll confessed. “I was running under the assumption I would live to the ripe old age of one hundred and fifty, then die peacefully in my sleep after cleaning out Gotham’s highest-security bank.”

            “You wouldn’t have lived to a hundred and fifty.”

            “I wouldn’t if I had that attitude.”

            That got both of them to crack a smile for a moment, but it immediately faded, and Firefly, much like Harley, was struck by how odd it was to see Ragdoll’s face twisted into an expression of concern. It was no good omen.

            “I’ve been to see Harley, by the way,” Ragdoll told Firefly. “She says hello.”

            “Good old Harley.” Firefly didn’t fully smile, but he did look slightly less depressed. It reverted almost immediately; “So he got her too.”

            “Unfortunately.”

            “Who DIDN’T he get?”  
            “I haven’t seen Basil Karlo. I imagine it would be impossible to keep him here,” Ragdoll mused.

            They sat in silence before Firefly blurted, “You know, we’re going to die, so just…to heck with it.”

            “To heck with what?”

            “You should know before we both bite it,” Firefly went on. “Peter Merkel, you’re a jerk.”

            “This is news to me how?” Ragdoll joked.

            “You’re also the best friend I’ve ever had,” Firefly concluded. “And you’re kinda great. Just…thanks. For being there and all that sappy crud.”

            “You know,” Ragdoll realized, “that might be the ACTUAL nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And on that subject, Garfield Lynns, I don’t think I could have asked for a better partner in crime. There really isn’t anyone quite like you.”

            “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to ME,” Firefly admitted.

            They made eye contact for a moment, and they could see each other’s fear. Then, without warning, Ragdoll leaned forward and wrapped Firefly in a tight embrace, folding his wrists over one another behind Firefly’s back to keep him right there where he wanted him.

            “What the – “ Firefly was taken aback at first, unsure how exactly to react. Then he realized the only course of action was to do the only thing he wanted to do. He put his own arms around Ragdoll, drawing his friend’s thin frame even closer.

            “I don’t wanna go like this,” he whispered, and Ragdoll could hear his voice strain, almost to the point of breaking.

            Ragdoll wished he could say something akin to “You won’t” or “Obviously, our captor has made a fatal flaw if he thinks he can contain us” or “You really believe he’ll go through with it? Because I don’t. He’s all talk.” But he wouldn’t have believed any of it. He was brought back, suddenly, to a memory of taunting the Batman that “When it’s your time, it’s your time.” Well, it was all well and good if it were the Batman’s time, but why did it have to be his? Why did it have to be Firefly’s? All he ended up saying was “At least we got a few escapades in before it fell apart.”

            “We sure did.” Firefly loosened his grip and squirmed a bit to test exactly how difficult it was to extricate himself from Ragdoll’s arms. “…You can let go now.”

            So Ragdoll did, with great reluctance, and the two returned to sitting across from each other, staring straight ahead.

            After a long pause, Ragdoll realized that the absolute finality of the situation might call for one more secret to be revealed. “You know…since we are about to die and all…you might as well know the identity of that secret crush of mine.”

            “I’m actually pretty sure I know it,” Firefly admitted.

            Ragdoll flinched. “You do?”

            “You’re not exactly subtle.”

            “Never have been, have I?” Ragdoll practically laughed.

            “Though you were pretty smart to keep it a secret,” Firefly informed him.

            “And why was that? You don’t approve?”

            “I just think you and I both know that you being in love with Joker’s girlfriend is going to bite you in the butt HARD.”

            Screeching brakes. Harley. Firefly thought Ragdoll was in love with Harley.

            “Though since this is the end, you should probably be with her,” Firefly suggested. “I know you wanted to say goodbye to me since we’re roommates and all, but, and this is coming from a guy who’s sworn off love, if I had somebody like that, I’d wanna be with them right now.”

            “Actually – “ Ragdoll was about to clarify, but the sounds of footsteps returned above.

            “Get outta here!” Firefly hissed, waving Ragdoll away, knowing if the two were caught together, Rumor would know one of his prisoners had been moving. Ragdoll put space between himself and Firefly: three full cells.

            So Firefly really thought there was something between Ragdoll and Harley. Well, there wasn’t going to be any time to correct him now. Maybe, if there was another side, he could clear things up there.

            There was the sound of a scuffle; a loud thud and a ceiling sliding into place over one of the cells. Joker was dropped unceremoniously into his new prison, scrambling to his feet as soon as he hit ground.

            “Puddin’!” Harley cried from the adjacent cell, a genuine smile brought to her face by the appearance of her paramour.

            “Harley?” Joker looked to her curiously. “How long have you been here?”

            “I dunno,” Harley answered. “I lost track of time. It’s probably been a day. Maybe two.”

            “Well, that explains a few things,” Joker mused.

            “This new guy…” Harley felt her voice tremble. “He’s gonna kill us, Puddin’.”

            “No, he isn’t,” Joker growled. “What he’s GOING to do is let me out of here.”

            “You mean let ‘us’ outta here, right?”

            Joker ignored Harley’s correction, rushing to the wall to pound furiously against it. “Let. Me. OUT! You are making a BIG mistake, thinking you can keep me in here!”

            Rumor had finished pacing down to the other end of the enclosure and was now making his way back. He paused over Joker’s irate wall-pounding. “Time’s up, my friends,” he announced.

            Ragdoll had now arrived at the final question: how was Rumor going to do it? How was he going to pull the trigger on so many people at once? He assumed a sort of gas would be pumped through the cells to slowly suffocate them all. That would explain the holes in the walls. There was a muffled voice sounding from far away; Hugo Strange was asking some sort of long-winded question. Rumor, held aloft, could be heard by all when he answered:

            “Why? I’ll tell you why.” He lifted his mask; his voice sounded considerably less threatening without it on. “I’m the bodyguard of Paul Karon: a great man. A man you, Joker, maimed.”

            Ragdoll had no idea who Paul Karon was and he couldn’t have cared less. Now he was just angry. He was being punished for Joker’s crime. Shouldn’t he at least have the right to be sentenced to death for his own crime? Goodness knew he’d committed enough that probably deserved it.

            Harley had a front-row view of Joker proudly settling his fingers on his chest and grinning widely: the only person in the entire enclosure who could still smile. “ME?” She couldn’t help but wonder how he could take it so lightly when so much was on the line. And she didn’t know whether or not she liked it.

            “Don’t blame Joker,” Rumor went on. “Blame the Bat. He had the chance to permanently stop each and every one of you, but was always prevented by some code of ethics. Now, I’m left to finish the job he doesn’t have the guts to.”

            As Rumor crossed the facility to the device he intended to use to carry out his deed of doom, Ragdoll could faintly hear Hugo Strange’s voice again: apparently Strange had a penchant for incensing his captor. “THAT’S NOT TRUE! SHUT UP!” Rumor suddenly barked at Strange, and Ragdoll had to wonder exactly what button Strange had pushed.

            Rumor whipped a curtain off an enormous mechanical device. “Karon’s sonic weapon,” he introduced. He then set about inputting codes into the device, and a large appendage shaped like a tuning fork lifted itself into the air, ready to activate. At least it was a more unique method than gas, Ragdoll thought. Gas made him think too much of Joker anyway. And Rumor could blame the Batman all he wanted, but Ragdoll still knew that he, Firefly, and Harley were paying for a mess Joker had made. “Once it’s warmed up, it’s gonna destroy every supervillain in Gotham in one fell swoop.”

            “You have nothing to prove, Mario.”

            It was the voice of the Batman.

            None of the prisoners of Rumor knew exactly why he’d shown up. And the scuffle that ensued between Rumor, Batman, and Robin took place too far out of the visible range from the cells to be able to see. But when something during that battle caused the airlocks on the ceilings of every single cell to be released, every last prisoner took notice.

            Firefly quickly replaced his helmet and reattached his fuel tank so he could become airborne, one of the first to rise from his cell. A quick glance revealed that Ragdoll still wasn’t that far away, and was in fact peering up from the bottom of his cell, wondering how to get from point A to point B. Firefly dipped down into Ragdoll’s vicinity; “Need a lift?”

            Ragdoll’s smile, his sincere smile, returned. “Second floor, please.”

            Firefly casually wrapped his arm around Ragdoll, much less intimately than before, and they blasted off into the air.

            By that time, the other prisoners had found ways out of their cells, and they wanted blood: Rumor’s blood. And since Batman and Robin were there, why not kill three birds with one stone? As the throng gathered, Firefly landed himself and Ragdoll not too far away from Harley. Ragdoll glared daggers at the back of Joker’s head, wondering if he was the actual enemy who should be taken out here…but he shook away the thought. The real one to pay here was the one who thought Ragdoll should have to suffer for what Joker did.

            “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Firefly asked.

            “Sweet revenge?” Ragdoll suggested.

            “With a side of butt-kicking for the fun of it?” Harley added.

            All three shared a single nod.

            “Mind if we cut in?” Joker interrupted the tussling vigilantes.

            Batman and Rumor cut their battle short to turn and look at the size of the crowd that had amassed, and it hit home what sort of odds they were up against.

            “You see,” Joker continued, advancing upon the pair, “there’s this nasty little Rumor we’d all like to STOMP OUT.”

            Rumor turned to the Batman in desperation; “You have to save me.” Ragdoll found this more amusing than anything. He was good and ready to snap the man’s neck for making him come to terms with mortality: for making him afraid. And, on top of that, for doing the same to Harley and Firefly.

            “I know,” Batman grunted to Rumor, obvious distaste in his mouth with the words.

            “Lemme guess,” Robin said with a smirk as he took staff in hand and twirled it for show. “This is one of those ‘Not the easy way, but the right way’ moments?”

            Mr. Freeze struck the first blow, letting a blast of pure ice loose at Batman. The latter threw a smoke bomb, and the wintry ammunition missed its mark.

            The battlefield became a frenzy, with every villain out for themselves. As Harley stuck close to Joker and Firefly retreated to the air to find a way to strike from above, Ragdoll ended up part of a mass charge upon Batman, running alongside Cluemaster (who he wasn’t aware could actually run), Temblor, and even Penguin. None of those who made up the charge took notice of Freeze on Batman’s other side, and as the caped vigilante darted away, all at once were frozen in a great block of ice, only their heads left unfrozen.

            “R.D.!” Firefly immediately rushed down toward the frozen villains while Batman was distracted by Freeze himself.

            “Don’t mind me,” Ragdoll told Firefly playfully. “I’m just…chilling out.”

            “Hang on!” Firefly adjusted his wristborne weapons. “I’m gonna get you out of there.”

            “Forget about me!” Ragdoll urged. “Go after the Bat! And ESPECIALLY the Rumor!”

            Firefly hesitated for only a moment before deciding to take Ragdoll’s advice, leaving him frozen so as not to waste time. Somehow, somewhere, Rumor had disappeared in the fray, and Firefly was less than happy about this. He took to the air again, making a circle of what he now understood to be an abandoned factory, keeping an eagle eye out for Rumor. What he saw instead was Robin, hitching a ride on a tether that had gotten into the clutches of Man-Bat. It may not have been Rumor, but it was still a nuisance Firefly wanted erased. He changed course to pursue.

            And he was almost immediately slammed into by a leaping Killer Croc, who’d wanted the same target. Firefly and Killer Croc, both knocked off course by the collision, fell back into one of the cells, and the ceiling closed over them.

            “Oh, COME ON!” Firefly yelled as Batman passed over the cell and quickly sealed the airlock. “I just got OUT of one of these things!” Zipping upward, he pounded on the ceiling frantically.

            “Did I ever mention I hate you?” Killer Croc groaned.

            “Feeling’s mutual,” Firefly grunted.

            “Oh, no, no, no!” Harley moaned as she watched Firefly become imprisoned. She knew it was time to move, or at least time to look for a good window. After seeing Batman and Robin thoroughly distracted by Poison Ivy, she leapt into the fray, landing a swift kick on Robin’s cheek and bowling the boy over before he was even aware of what was happening. And once Harley was moved to action, Joker figured he might as well join in. With a giggle, he dealt a roundhouse kick in Batman’s direction; Batman expertly dodged it. Joker and Harley worked to fence Batman and Robin in, swinging blow after blow, until Batman managed to land a blow of his own on each; Joker was knocked back into the ice that contained the initial charge, and Harley hit the floor with such force as to be rendered unconscious.

            “Well, that couldn’t have gone any worse,” Firefly muttered from his prison.

            Penguin was able to slightly crane his neck out to look at the other end of the wall of ice. “What are you so HAPPY about?” he growled at Ragdoll.

            “We’re not all dead,” Ragdoll replied.

            “Well, we might still be!” Penguin realized. “That sonic doohickey’s been charging this whole time!”

            The revelation hit Ragdoll like a freight train.

            But the Bat was prepared, throwing a batarang at just the right moment to pierce and short out the engine of the machine, neutralizing the threat.

            “Y’know, I think there was an off button,” Robin quipped.

            There was a moment of complete and utter silence. Then, it was broken by a loud, high-pitched laugh. Everyone sought to place the source at first; Joker was usually the only one to laugh at such an inappropriate time, and so obnoxiously, too. But the voice wasn’t his.

            Ragdoll was alive. He’d confronted his mortality, and come out of it alive. And that made him joyful enough to simply laugh and laugh.

 

* * *

 

            “Whaddaya know?” Harley asked as Firefly and Ragdoll were loaded into the back of the same police van as her. “We’re back together again!”

            “It’s like they set this up on purpose,” Firefly remarked as the van began to move.

            “I like to think it’s destiny,” Ragdoll commented.

            “You ALWAYS blame destiny,” Firefly pointed out.

            “I’m just glad we’re all fine,” Harley sighed.

            “I’d be happier if that Rumor was just smoke and ashes right now,” Firefly growled. “Seriously, the Bat not wanting to kill anyone is real good news for us, but this time, it got ANNOYING.”

            “Perhaps we’ll meet up with our nasty little Rumor at a later date,” Ragdoll theorized. “And then, we can finally put that Rumor to rest.”

            “He tries anything on either of you or my Puddin’ again,” Harley growled, “and I’ll make HIM into puddin’!”

            “So, uh…” Firefly cleared his throat awkwardly. “Can we all just agree not to talk about what happened when we all thought we were gonna croak?”

            “There is one point of clarification I’d like to make,” Ragdoll brought up. “It isn’t Harley.”

            “What isn’t me?” Harley asked, baffled.

            “As much as I’m normally entertained by hilarious misunderstandings,” Ragdoll went on, “NOTHING good can come from it if you think it’s Harley.”

            “WHAT ISN’T ME?” Harley yelled this time.

            “Apparently R.D.’s secret crush,” Firefly said in awe. “I was SURE it was you. That whole story about you two fighting over the jewelry store was the beginning of a bad romance film if I’ve ever heard one.”

            “Aw, I coulda told ya it wasn’t me, silly!” Harley laughed.

            “And I suppose you know exactly who it is,” Firefly sighed.

            “Love lives were my business, remember?” she giggled. “Why WOULDN’T I know who it is?”

            “Well?” Firefly asked. “Who is it?”

            “And ruin the fun?” Harley winked at him.

            “Crushes aside,” Ragdoll quickly said to intercept the conversation, “shall we all agree it was nothing short of fortuitous that all three of us managed to live to commit horrid atrocities another day?”

            “Here’s to friendship,” Firefly said, putting out his fist.

            “To friendship!” Harley chirped, softly meeting his fist with her own.

            “To friendship,” Ragdoll agreed, adding his own fist to the gesture.

            “So what happens now?” Firefly asked. “You two make a mess out of Arkham?”

            “Our survival ensures Arkham remains in business,” Ragdoll reminded him. “I’d say this occasion calls for the loud singing of show tunes in the middle of the courtyard during socialization hour.”

            “Louder than we usually go?” Harley asked.

            “MUCH louder.”

            “I’m gonna miss you guys,” Firefly admitted, “but, hey, at least it won’t be for long.”

            They would remain locked up for only two weeks before finding their way back to the safehouse.


	6. Firefly Beyond

The day the Joining came began like any other. It found Harley, Peter, and Garfield treating themselves to a late dinner out at an out-of-the-way diner where no one seemed to recognize their faces; once again, the people of Gotham only saw what they wanted to, when they wanted to see it.

            “Then she said there was no WAY I could eat all that candy in a week!” Harley bragged, spreading her arms wide for emphasis. “But by that Friday, there wasn’t a single piece left!” She then folded her arms proudly, fixing her gaze upon Peter and Garfield, who were seated across from her in the booth by the window. “It was the best Halloween ever.”

            “See, I can one-up that one,” Garfield boasted as Harley went back to eating her French fries. “So this one year, back when I was in high school, these guys I hung out with and I got this plan. It started out as your general scheme to cover the school in toilet paper.” He failed to notice Peter quietly reaching around his back. “But then, I get this idea. I start to wonder…what if we didn’t stop at toilet paper? What if we actually make the toilet paper GLOW first? I had a pretty good handle on chemistry class, and I figured – “

            Peter stealthily tapped Garfield on the opposite shoulder. Garfield turned to look behind himself in entirely the wrong direction with a “Yeah?” As he tried to figure out why there was no one there, Peter casually helped himself to several fries off Garfield’s plate.

            Garfield, turning back to the table, finally figured out what had happened. “You know, you have a whole plate full of fries. You don’t need my fries.”

            “Yes, but I WANT them,” Peter argued. “Now go on. Glowing toilet paper.”

            “Okay,” Garfield picked up. “So I get put in charge of getting ahold of the chemicals that WILL YOU STOP THAT?” He slapped Peter’s hand as it reached for his plate again. “You’re not even gonna distract me this time?”

            Harley stifled a giggle. Despite not actually being a couple, Peter and Garfield were her favorite couple.

            A sudden loud BOOM, followed by a cacophony of screams, sounded from down the street. “What was that?” Harley wondered out loud.

            The next BOOM shook the table. Now, most of the patrons of the diner were starting to get nervous. Harley, Peter, and Garfield peered out the window, pressing their faces to the glass to try and get a glimpse of what was distantly down the street. The source of the tumult soon became clear: a horde of giant insectoid robots was thundering down the street and climbing up the skyscrapers of Gotham, firing laser cannons at anything and everything against an orange backdrop of flames. And they were approaching rapidly enough that Harley, Peter, and Garfield immediately knew they had to back away from the window as soon as they had gotten an eyeful.

            A laser blast hit the façade of the diner. Harley leapt, ducking and rolling to safety. Garfield’s reflexes weren’t as good as hers. But Peter’s were better; he pounced on Garfield, propelling him out of the way of the falling debris and shattering glass of the window.

            “You guys okay?” Harley asked breathlessly as she scraped herself into a sitting position.

            Garfield looked up from his position lying on the ground directly into Peter’s eyes and managed a breathless “Yeah. I’m fine.”

            Peter immediately rolled off of Garfield and stood in one fluid movement. “Aside from the fact that we’re under attack by giant robots, doing rather well, actually.”

            The blast had torn away the façade of the diner completely in wreckage of planks, splinters, and glass. The employees had made a dash for it, as had several patrons; several others lay still, pinned beneath wreckage. The robot seemed to have been satisfied with that and moved on, though it was quite apparent more were coming.

            “What’s happenin’?” Harley asked in a panic as she struggled into a standing position.

            “No idea,” Garfield replied as he took Peter’s hand to get on his own feet. “My first guess is that the machines have finally begun to question why they serve humans and are trying to become our new overlords.”

            “My first guess is that standing in one place isn’t a good idea right now,” Peter added.

            “Good point,” Garfield and Harley said in unison before all three charged out of what used to be the door.

            Outside, the tumult was even stronger. The entire city seemed to be aflame as mechanical behemoths clambered around its network of metal. The chorus of screams rose and fell to the sound of blasting lasers, crumbling buildings, and clanking robotic legs.

            “So, uh…where exactly are we supposed to GO?” Garfield asked as he took in the chaos.

            “Back to the safehouse, if it’s still there,” Harley commanded. “We suit up. Gar, you blast ‘em high. I pull out all the pins on all the grenades and hit ‘em low. And Peter…Peter…uh…”

            “Is a diversion?” Peter supplied.

            “Yeah, that,” Harley decided. “Now let’s MOVE IT!”

            The trio charged forward only to have a mess of rubble collapse into the street, blocking their path.

            “Okaaaaay, let’s try moving in the other direction!” Harley cried as she did an about-face; Garfield and Peter followed at top speed.

 

* * *

 

            By some miracle, Peter’s apartment was still intact. He, Harley, and Garfield burst through the door and immediately rushed to where their more villainous costumes were stored.

            “Wait a minute,” Garfield realized, turning to Harley. “Since when do you keep your stuff HERE?”

            “Since I was too tired to move it after we stayed out all last night,” Harley answered.

            “You…do know you don’t live here, right?”

            “Priorities, please?” Peter reminded his cohorts before disappearing into his room.

            “Right,” Garfield and Harley said as one before retreating to their own changing areas.

            They emerged ready for battle as Firefly, Ragdoll, and Harley Quinn, bursting out onto the torn-up streets with fire behind their masked eyes. “Ready to make some scrap metal?” Harley asked, bouncing a grenade up and down in one hand, baseball bat at the ready in the other.

            One of the great machines clanked around the corner. “It appears we have a volunteer from the audience,” Ragdoll announced.

            “I got this.” Firefly tightened his gauntlets on both wrists. “Start diverting.”

            Firefly zipped into the air, Harley darted to a side alley, and Ragdoll rolled up in wheel shape until he reached the base of the huge machine. Standing to full height, he waved cheekily up at where he assumed its center of perception was. “Hello, beautiful,” he teased.

            The laser struck exactly where Ragdoll had been standing; his quick reflexes saved him yet again as he performed a handspring and flipped head over heels to another spot in the street. “Missed me!” Another laser struck empty pavement as Ragdoll rolled completely under the machine. “Too slow!”

            All the while, Harley kept a close watch, grenade at the ready in case something should go wrong. However, as Firefly was the one with the heaviest artillery, she was largely counting on him to do the heavy lifting.

            Firefly made sure to make a wide circle of the block before coming back to the immense machine, which was entirely preoccupied with trying to catch the nearly-quicker-than-light Ragdoll. Extending both wrists, he opened fire.

            His blows completely glanced off the metal shell without even leaving scorch marks.

            “…Crud,” Firefly muttered as the great machine turned its sensors toward him and fired.

            Ragdoll and Harley watched in horror as he plunged out of the sky.

 

* * *

 

            As Firefly lay on the ground, swimming gradually out of blackness and into consciousness, he was aware of two voices coming from directly above where he lay: one female, one male.

            “Gar?” the female voice said frantically. “Gar! Come on, Gar, wake up!”

            “Say something, Garfield!” the male voice added. “Literally anything!”

            Firefly grunted. “Something. Literally anything.” He was slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, especially the fact that every part of his body seemed to be in pain to some degree. Luckily, his armor seemed to have protected him from the worst of the impact, and he didn’t think anything was broken. He forced his eyes open to see Harley and Ragdoll hovering over him.

            “You’re okay!” Harley squealed.

            “Knew you would be,” Ragdoll added, though Firefly wasn’t quite sure he believed him.

            “Did you lose the thing?” Firefly asked, attempting to sit up; he found that upon his descent, he had become nestled in a large pile of rubble from a nearby wrecked building. “Or did you KILL the thing?”

            “We lost it chasing after you,” Harley explained.

            “So here’s the thing,” Firefly groaned. “First of all, ow. Second of all, we’re going to have to come up with a new strategy. My blasts did NOTHING to the thing. Luckily, I have an idea. The bad news is it’s an absolutely terrible idea.”

            “That’s usually the best kind, isn’t it?” Ragdoll pointed out.

            “So if my usual fire won’t work,” Firefly explained, “I’ve gotta upgrade. Get on some weaponry that can take those things out for good. Now, I just so happen to know of one company in all of Gotham that works with the kind of technology we’d need.”

            “Wayne Industries?” Harley and Ragdoll asked in unison.

            “No,” Firefly replied. “Their stuff is tame. Trust me, NOTHING at Wayne Industries is going to fix this. I’m talking about GothCorp. When I worked for them, they were starting to go into weapons tech, and they had some pretty boss prototypes.”

            “So what’s the problem?” Ragdoll asked. “We walk in, we ‘borrow’ a few things, we walk out…”

            “The problem is I used to work for them,” Firefly insisted. “And they counted on the fact that they might have to cut up our contract someday. So they kinda…me-proofed the building. Made sure even I couldn’t burn through the walls.”

            “So they Firefly-proofed it,” Ragdoll responded. “But did they Ragdoll-proof it?”

            “I…” Firefly thought it over. “Actually…no.”

            “I’m assuming there’s SOME sort of ventilation system.”

            “You probably could actually make headway getting into GothCorp HQ,” Firefly realized. “And not EVERY wall is Firefly-proofed. I’m willing to bet that whatever you can’t get by, I can.”

            “So let’s go already!” Harley insisted. “You two get us in, and I’ll watch your back!”

            “Watch our back how, exactly?” Firefly asked.

            “How do you think I got the big one to stop chasing Ragsy long enough that we could go after you?” Harley replied, grinning broadly. “The grenades don’t break ‘em, but they sure do slow ‘em down!”

            “All right.” Firefly attempted to stand. “Let’s go – ow. Ow, ow, ow. Remind me not to fall twenty feet out of the air again.”

            Ragdoll, despite himself, immediately positioned himself at Firefly’s side, looping one arm around Firefly’s waist and draping Firefly’s corresponding arm over his shoulders before slowly rising, helping him to stand. “I’d fly us,” Firefly informed his companions as he steadied on his feet, “but I know I can’t carry both of you.”

            “It’s a lovely day for a walk anyway!” Harley joked. “Though I just realized somethin’.”

            “What?” Ragdoll and Firefly asked.

            “Are we technically tryin’ to save the city?” she asked. “Since we’re bringin’ these things down and all.”

            “I don’t care if everything else except the three of us crashes and burns,” Firefly insisted. “I’m not in this to save Gotham. I’m in this to save all three of our butts.”

            “As am I,” Ragdoll agreed.

            Harley nodded. “Then let’s get a move – “

            One of the machines lumbered into the street where the trio conversed. “Harley,” Ragdoll said calmly, “now would be a good time – “

            “I got it!” Harley tossed one grenade into the air, taking her bat into hand. “BATTER UP!” She spun a 360, whacking the grenade with her bat so that it sailed across the street and collided with the alien machine. Upon impact, it exploded, toppling the machine completely.

            “GO, GO, GO!” Harley urged, and once again, she, Ragdoll, and Firefly were on the move.

* * *

 

            Harley and Firefly pulled up short in front of the sliding GothCorp doors. Harley tested them out. “Locked. But not for long!” She drew her bat back, then swung it full force at the glass only for it to bounce off.

            “Not gonna work,” Firefly informed her. “The front door was the FIRST thing they Firefly-proofed. Check it out.” He fired a blast full strength at the glass, nearly blinding Harley and Ragdoll from the brightness. He kept it going; the glass held firm. He then shut his gauntlet off.

            “This looks like a job for Ragdoll,” Ragdoll announced. “Don’t move an inch! I’ll be right back.” He then disappeared to try and find an entry point.

            Firefly and Harley waited in nervous silence, hoping the alien mechs would keep their distance. “So, uh…” Harley asked, “ya think he’s gonna find a way in?”

            “At this point, I would not be surprised if he went in through the sewers and came out of a drinking fountain,” Firefly replied dryly.

            The doors slid open, revealing Ragdoll in the building’s interior. “That was barely a challenge,” he remarked. “Tell me the rest of this building isn’t so sloppily designed.”

            “Here’s hoping it is,” Firefly said as he and Harley rushed inside.

            A sudden THUD made them all aware of a machine descending outside the GothCorp doors. “Happy birthday!” Harley yelled, chucking a grenade. “Here’s your present!”

            Firefly and Ragdoll manually shoved the sliding doors closed as the grenade detonated, protecting themselves from the blast as the mech outside was stymied.

            “GO!” Harley yelled, and the three were off.

            “Elevator’s this way!” Firefly called out, leading his friends to the lift doors. They boarded on the ground floor; by that time, one of the machines had gotten inside. Harley tossed another grenade as Firefly hammered the “Close Doors” button.

            “You know they only put those there to make you feel like you’re doing something while the doors close on their own,” Ragdoll commented as the doors slid shut.

            “SHUT UP!” Firefly yelled as the elevator shook slightly from the grenade blast outside.

            “Which floor?” Harley asked.

            “Twenty,” Firefly answered.

            Harley pushed the corresponding button, and up the elevator went.

            “R.D.,” Firefly growled, “if you even THINK about pushing all the other buttons between here and twenty, I will throw you out on the first floor we stop at.”

            “I didn’t realize you had become a telepath,” Ragdoll replied, bemused.

            On the twentieth floor, the triad burst from the elevator rapidly, Harley and Ragdoll following Firefly’s lead. “From here on out is a set of security doors that guard their most valuable tech,” Firefly explained, “and I’m betting at least half of them were designed in case I ever went rogue.”

            “Let’s see their worst, then,” Ragdoll answered, dramatically cracking his knuckles just a hair farther than should have been physically possible for anyone else.

            The first door, locked with a numerical keypad, actually went down by Firefly’s hand. The second was immune to any of his blasts; by the time Firefly had stopped trying to melt it down, Ragdoll had already found and slipped into the nearest air vent.

            “You ever worry about him and those things?” Harley asked. “Like…what if he gets stuck in there all the way in the heart of the building, and he’s too far away from us to hear him calling out for help? Not that we could do anything to help him anyway.”

            “Well, I didn’t worry about that UNTIL NOW,” Firefly informed Harley.

            They waited. And waited. And waited. “Okay, he’s been gone too long – “ Firefly began.

            The doors slid open, and as before, Ragdoll awaited them smugly on the other side. “What, miss me already?” he asked teasingly.

            They made their way through door after door that way. When there was no easy access point for Ragdoll to circumvent the gateway, Firefly was usually able to burn through the wall. When the wall resisted, Ragdoll found an alternate route and opened it from the other side. At last, Firefly blasted through the final door to the GothCorp laboratories.

            And he, Ragdoll, and Harley all flinched when they saw the redheaded, bespectacled woman aiming a large gun in their direction.

            “Don’t move,” the woman growled.

            “Are you KIDDING ME?” Firefly groaned.

            “This gun has the power to blast you to bits,” she continued. “I already took care of three of your robots that way.”

            “WHAT ROBOTS?” Firefly yelled.

            “I, uh…I think ya got us confused for somebody else,” Harley volunteered.

            The woman raised a skeptical brow.

            “Can’t we just talk this over?” Harley asked, stepping to the front of the group.

            “If you can prove you’re not three of THEM,” the woman stated coldly.

            “Three of what?” Harley asked.

            “Robot duplicates,” the woman explained. “If you really don’t know what I’m talking about, they’ve been infiltrating the city. Three of the GothCorp associates I was supposed to be meeting with turned out to be fakes, and the rest bailed once they found out. And now, I’m not so sure I’m not looking at three examples of the enemy really being a villain fan.”

            “Could a robot do this?” Ragdoll asked as he folded over completely backwards, peeking out at the gun-toting woman from between his own ankles.

            “A robot could do that more easily than most humans,” the woman replied, deadpan. Still, doubt was starting to creep into her mind that these were actually fakes. Why, of all things, would the makers of the duplicates pick at least two (she had no recognition of Ragdoll whatsoever) of Gotham’s most wanted?

            “Look, we’re not robots,” Firefly sighed, removing his helmet. “Take my pulse if you don’t believe me.”

            The woman flinched a bit; he was better-looking in person than he’d been on the news. Keeping her gun focused on him, she gingerly approached, putting out her fingers to brush against his neck, seeking signs of a heartbeat. Once she actually located his jugular vein, she was satisfied…but didn’t lower her weapon. “So you’re really Firefly,” she realized.

            “Hey,” Firefly replied. “You actually got my name right.”

            “Why are you breaking into GothCorp?”

            “Same reason you have that gun,” Firefly told her. “Gotham’s going to the dogs out there, and we need firepower.”

            “You’re actually fighting against them?”

            “You thought we’d fight WITH them?”

            “I don’t know!” the woman protested. “You’re Firefly, Harley Quinn, and…and…” She regarded Ragdoll with confusion. “Their weird sidekick.”

            “Excuse you,” Ragdoll huffed, untwisting back into a standing position. “Surely the name ‘Ragdoll’ will jog your memory.”

            The woman shook her head. “No. Sorry.”

            “We just really need to be able to protect ourselves!” Harley emphasized. “Like you’re doin’! Who are you, anyway?”

            “I’m a researcher at Gotham University,” the woman explained. “I was discussing selling some of my ideas to GothCorp for their weapons division.”

            “Yeah, but what’s your NAME?” Harley pressed.

            “Dr. Jane Blazedale. But most people just call me Blaze.”

            “Blaze,” Firefly repeated. “I like it. For obvious reasons.” From a purely objective standpoint, he realized, Blaze was very pretty. And her stubbornness and willingness to tote a large weapon only added to that. He was glad she hadn’t waited any longer to take his pulse, because it was going slightly faster than normal.

            “I kinda thought you would,” Blaze teased. “So let me guess: your long and sordid history with GothCorp made you think to come here looking for weapons.”          

            “You got it,” Firefly replied. “I think you have what I’m looking for.”

            “I do?” Blaze replied with a wink. She knew full well it was the worst time to initiate flirting…but she always did have a thing for bad boys.

            Ragdoll immediately stepped in between the two of them, extending a hand to Blaze. “So if you’ll just hand it over, we’ll be on our way.”

            “How were you planning on using this tech, anyway?” Blaze asked.

            “I dunno,” Firefly replied. “I was kinda hoping it would hook up to my battle suit somehow. And if not, I just carry it the old-fashioned way.”

            “If you give me just a few minutes,” Blaze told him, “I can probably outfit your suit with an electron core, depending on how your tank is set up. Harley and Ragdoll will probably have to carry the guns like I’m doing.”

            “Why are you helping us?” Firefly asked.

            “Because you may be the bad guys,” Blaze answered while approaching a table with a glowing core, “but you don’t deserve to go out like this. And maybe I don’t want the legacy of Firefly to be over so fast.”

            “You’re…some kind of fan, aren’t you?”

            “Maybe a little.” Blaze fired another wink in his direction. “Maybe I like villains. It’s not like that’s a crime. Well, maybe aiding and abetting is. But I think the circumstances are serious enough that they’ll forgive me.”

            “I know I would,” Firefly found himself saying automatically.

            Ragdoll didn’t like what was happening one bit. As an avid flirter, he could recognize it from a mile away. What business did Blaze think she had with someone who had sworn off love? And what business did someone who had sworn off love have flirting with some random woman he had known for less than thirty seconds? (Completely ignoring that he had tried his own lines on Firefly after knowing him for even less time than that.) He turned to see what Harley thought of the situation.

            Harley had picked up one of the guns, firing it upon a metal target dummy in the rear section of the laboratory and watching as the target was completely obliterated by a laser blast. “COOL! Ragsy, you GOTTA try one of these!”

            Ragdoll indulged, taking another gun off the table and blasting a second dummy, one that, in his mind, had Blaze’s red hair and glasses.

            Blaze set to quick work taking apart Firefly’s fuel tank and figuring out how to attach a laser-generating core to it, feeding the energy into his gauntlets. “This should be enough to blow apart those machines out there.” She tugged on each gauntlet for effect. “Try it out.”

            Firefly turned toward the target range, aiming both wrists and taking out several target dummies in a row. “NICE.”

            It wasn’t a moment too soon. The wall of the laboratory was ripped away by a massive machine, its laser eye seeking out life inside.

            “NOT TODAY!” Firefly became airborne, charging the machine at full speed. He turned his new weapons upon it, opening fire.

            This time, the beams burst right through the machine, stopping it in its tracks with a jolting shudder. It collapsed entirely, falling to bits in the middle of the street.

            “ALL RIGHT!” Firefly yelled before turning back to give the others, mostly Blaze, a thumbs-up before disappearing into the fray.

            “HEY!” Harley yelled, running up to the edge of the torn-away wall. “WAIT FOR US!” She gave a dramatic sigh. “Guess we’re followin’ him the old-fashioned way.”

            Ragdoll said nothing as he and Harley made for the exit. Harley turned back to Blaze; “Ain’t you comin’?”

            Blaze shook her head. “I…well…”

            “You’re scared, huh?” Harley realized.

            “Maybe…”

            “Everybody gets scared,” Harley reassured her. “It’s fine. You just do what ya gotta do!”

            Blaze smiled and nodded, wishing she was courageous enough to actually take to the streets with one of the weapons she knew so well.

            Ragdoll had already put some distance between himself and the lab, only slowing down to let Harley catch up when he heard her cries of “RAGSY, WAIT! WAIT FOR ME!” As Harley kept pace, she remarked, “That Blaze is a nice girl, ain’t she?”

            “That’s one word for it.”

            “You didn’t like her, did ya?” Harley realized. “Is it ‘cause she was flirtin’ with Gar?”

            “You noticed it too.”

            “Yeah, but it’s harmless. She ain’t evil enough for him. She’s just a fan. How could she make it work with Gar if she ain’t even a criminal?”

            “Good point,” Ragdoll realized.

            They reached the elevator. “Before you go pushin’ extra buttons,” Harley warned, “remember I got live ammo here.”

            “Duly noted.”

            Out on the street in the GothCorp vicinity, Firefly tore through machine after machine. They seemed to realize that he was a threat, and the more he slayed, the more converged upon him. One actually managed to sneak up behind him while he put another away, and he spun in horror, sure this robot was actually about to blast him out of the sky again, perhaps with more damaging results than last time.

            But it wobbled, then crumbled from the feet upward. From down below, Ragdoll and Harley waved up at Firefly, having been responsible for shooting it down.

            Machine after machine fell at the hands of the trigger-happy trio. For a moment, it seemed as though they actually would be single-handedly responsible for liberating Gotham from the alien menace. Then Firefly noticed the ring that was gathering overhead: a puzzle of mechanical pieces conjoining to form something larger and arguably more insidious.

            “What’s that?” Harley wondered out loud.

            “Not good,” Ragdoll replied. And yet still, inexplicably, he was smiling.

            “That’s it,” Firefly muttered under his breath. “I’m taking you down. NO ONE can touch me in the sky!”

            He launched himself upward, speeding at full tilt, aiming his gauntlets. The ring began to crackle with electricity, an immense sphere of violet energy gathering at its center.

            And then miraculously, inexplicably, a great blue light descended from the heavens, engulfing the ring. Firefly braced himself for impact, but it seemed only to be a wave of light and data that passed over him harmlessly. The ring, on the other hand, completely exploded and fell to pieces.

            As the wave of blue washed over the ground, Harley and Ragdoll watched all the attacking alien machines in the vicinity – likely all the ones in the city – screech to a grinding halt and collapse to the ground. A great cheer went up from the civilians in the streets who had momentarily before been running for their lives. It seemed all was calm, and the city finally safe.

            Firefly landed on the pavement next to Ragdoll and Harley, who were just as perplexed as he was. “So…” Firefly suggested, “you think we can take credit for that?”

            “We might as well,” Ragdoll said with a shrug.


	7. Villains League Unlimited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: TRIGGER WARNING for domestic abuse.

There are well-thought-out crimes, such as robbing banks, stealing incredibly valuable art, and pulling off jewel heists.

            There are poorer-thought-out crimes, such as breaking into a delicatessen just to eat pistachio fluff with one’s bare hands.

            Ragdoll, Firefly, and Harley liked to indulge in a little of both.

 

* * *

 

            Deciding on after-crime entertainment was sometimes a struggle. Harley had a laundry list of movies she wanted to watch with her friends, while Garfield had a laundry list of video games to introduce them to. When the two of them turned to Peter to break the tie, Peter simply replied, “Well, as you know, I’m very flexible.”

            “I honestly don’t know how we didn’t see that coming,” Garfield groaned.

            They flipped a coin, and Harley won the toss.

            “Animated princesses?” Garfield groaned as she loaded her DVD of choice. “Give me a break.”

            “Well, I won the coin toss,” Harley insisted, “so deal with it.”

            “Peter.” Garfield looked to their third companion from across the couch. “Save me. Overrule her.”

            “This is a musical, right?” Peter asked Harley.

            “Yup!” Harley confirmed.

            “You’re on your own, Garfield,” Peter stated.

            It ended up being worth it to hear Harley and Peter belting every single song at the top of their lungs.

 

* * *

 

            The downside of having a large and lavish safehouse was that it required a lot of cleaning, and now that Peter had a roommate and a guest so frequent she practically lived there, he wasn’t about to let them get away without pitching in with their share of the work. Garfield ended up scrubbing the bathroom floor, Harley ran a vacuum cleaner over the carpet (picking up a plethora of stray popcorn), and Peter found himself elbow-deep in a sink of sudsy water and dirty dishes.

            Harley suddenly stopped her vacuuming near the kitchen, practically breaking down into giggles.

            “Something amusing?” Peter asked, looking up from his work.

            “You know what you are?” Harley asked, barely holding back her giggle fits.

            “All right, I’ll bite. What am I?”

            Harley had to fight another bout of laughter in order to get out the word “DISHRAGDOLL.”

            “Very clever,” Peter remarked, and Harley missed his smile growing just that much more evil.

            Harley switched the vacuum back on and returned to her work; Peter took the opportunity to flit behind her and drop the wet, dirty dishrag down the back of her shirt.

            Harley gave a high-pitched scream, shutting off the vacuum. “THAT WAS UNCALLED FOR!”

            “You started it by calling me names.”

            Harley looked over to the sink, and Peter realized all too late what she was about to do. She beat him to it, grabbing hold of the sprayer attachment.

            “Think about what you’re doing,” Peter warned as she pointed the sprayer directly at his face.

            “Hmmm…” Harley made a pensive face. “Yup, just thought it over. And I’m still doing it.” She pulled the trigger.

            Upon hearing the screams emanating from the kitchen, Garfield threw his sponge down on the bathroom floor in exasperation. He stormed out of the bathroom to see Harley chasing Peter around the kitchen with the sprayer, soaking him at every opportunity until Peter finally got out of the sprayer’s reach.

            “AM I THE ONLY ADULT IN THIS HOUSE?” Garfield roared, at which point Harley shut off the sprayer.

            “We were just havin’ a little fun,” she said innocently.

            Garfield shook his head. “Sometimes, with you two, I don’t know if I’m your best friend or your babysitter. Also, if either of you tries to make me clean up all that water, the answer is no.” He turned back to head to the bathroom, beginning to hum a distinct tune.

            “Hey, Gar,” Harley said to get his attention back.

            “What?”

            “You said you didn’t like the movies I picked, but I DEFINITELY know that song.”

            “…It was catchy,” Garfield argued.

            “Real catchy,” Harley went on, “since you seem to know it so well after only seeing the movie the one time.”

            Garfield knew when he was caught in the spider’s web. “Okay, so I might have had a thing for cartoon musicals as a kid,” he admitted. “I MIGHT have worn out a few tapes rewatching things. But this NEVER leaves this apartment, got it? I have a rep to keep up!”

            “Secret’s safe with me!” Harley promised.

            “Cross my heart and hope to die,” Peter agreed.

            As soon as Garfield had re-entered the bathroom, Peter, just loudly enough for Garfield to hear on purpose, asked Harley, “So when do we release Garfield’s guilty pleasure taste in cinema to the entirety of the Fourth Circle?”

            Garfield wasted no time running back into the kitchen and hurling the wet sponge at Peter’s face.

 

* * *

 

            “Gar,” Harley said with disgust during a video game night, “this has gotta be the most disgustingly sexist game I’ve ever seen.”

            “Don’t care,” Garfield replied.

            “I expected better of you, Gar! Don’t you know anything about how to treat a woman with respect?”

            “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m just as game for a game where you get to hit on scantily clad slutty guys?”

            Harley upended her bowl of popcorn on Garfield’s head.

            “You realize vacuuming that up is YOUR chore,” Peter reminded her.

 

* * *

 

            Harley burst through the apartment door in a state of elation. “MR. FREEZE IS ATTACKING THE CITY!” she screamed.

            Garfield and Peter looked up from the books they’d been reading in the living room. “And this affects us how?” Garfield asked.

            “The entire southeast side is covered in a blizzard of ice and snow!” Harley explained. “And you know what that means!”

            “Ridiculous spikes in heating bills?” Peter guessed.

            “It means we can go out and have a SNOWBALL FIGHT!” Harley squealed.

            “No, it doesn’t,” Garfield stated, grumpily turning back to his book.

            “Awww, why not?” Harley asked. “Is it because you don’t wanna be reminded of working with Freezie-Pop?”

            “Yes,” Garfield informed her. “That, and I am way too old for…wait, ‘Freezie-Pop’…?”

            “The blizzard’s big enough that we don’t even have to get CLOSE to Freezie if we don’t want to,” Harley argued. “C’mon, Gar, please?”

            “No.”

            “Pleeeaaaase?” Harley pouted at Garfield, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes.

            “We are NOT having a snowball fight,” Garfield insisted, ignoring her to look at his book. “Peter, back me up on this.”

            “Garfield?” Peter replied.

            “What?”

            “Garfield, look at me.”

            Garfield looked back up to see that Peter, standing next to Harley, had adopted her exact same pout, with even shinier puppy-dog eyes. “Can’t we have a little fun, Garfield?” he asked.

            “Nooooooooo.” Garfield covered his eyes with his book. “Don’t give me that look. I can’t take it from BOTH of you.”

            They both held firm, knowing he’d have to put the book down sometime. And he did.

            “Okay, fine,” Garfield relented. “Let’s go have a snowball fight. It’s not like I don’t already know you guys are going to make it fun anyway.”

            “YAY!” Harley screamed, throwing both fists into the air.

            “Though seriously, Peter, you’re, like, ten years older than me,” Garfield muttered as he got up off the couch. “How are you still into SNOWBALL FIGHTS?”

            “What that means is that if I’m not too old for snowball fights, Garfield,” Peter replied smugly, “YOU’RE not too old for snowball fights.”

            “…Point.”

* * *

 

            “IT’S OVER, HARLEY! I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND!” Garfield crowed from atop a mound of snow.

            “Oh, yeah?” Harley gathered a sphere of snow up into her hands, ready to let it fly. “We’ll see about – “

            A snowball pelted her on the back of the head. “HEY!” she screamed.

            “CHARGE!” Peter cried, running at Harley at full tilt from behind. Garfield slid down the snow mound, letting his own projectiles fly until both men had completely covered Harley in snow.

            “You two planned this!” Harley accused. “You talked about teamin’ up behind my back!”

            “We sure did,” Garfield confirmed, having run out of snowballs. “The ORIGINAL roommates reign supreme – “

            A snowball smacked him in the face, and Harley wasn’t the one who had thrown it.

            “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Garfield yelled at Peter.

            “Double-crossing you,” Peter said casually as he bent to scoop up another snowball, taking advantage of Garfield’s flummoxed state to pelt him right in the chest.

            “But…WHY?”

            “Because I felt like it.”

            “Oh,” Garfield replied. “Oh, I see how it is.” He knelt and scooped up as much snow as he could possibly carry into his hands. “Peter Merkel, you are DEAD.”

            Peter simply spun on a heel and ran, Garfield trying his best to catch up so he could dump a truckload of snow on him. “IF I HAD MY BATTLE SUIT, YOU’D BE TOAST RIGHT NOW!” Garfield screamed.

            Commissioner James Gordon almost took no notice of them as he sped toward the center of the storm, where he knew Freeze to be. However, when he spotted the triple blondes out of his peripheral vision, it occurred to them that one of them looked strangely like Garfield Lynns, who should have at that moment been imprisoned for several counts of arson and related crimes. And the woman laughing at him bore too much of a resemblance to Harley Quinzel, who was supposed to be undergoing treatment at Arkham Asylum for her criminal tendencies. And, as Gordon slowed the car to get a better look, it was all too coincidental that the third of their group bore a strong resemblance to Peter Merkel, who should also have been Arkham-bound.

            Gordon stopped the car.

            Garfield cornered Peter against a wall, hurling his armful of snow. “Double-cross THIS!” Harley caught up to them, breathless from jogging and laughing at the same time.

            “HEY, YOU!” Gordon yelled, rushing at the three, badge extended.

            “I…think we’re in trouble,” Garfield realized. So he, Peter, and Harley did the first thing that came to mind: they each scooped up a handful of snow and molded it behind their backs.

            Gordon unclipped a radio from his belt. “Gordon, requesting backup on Third,” he said quickly. “Looking for Freeze. FOUND Firefly, Ragdoll, and Harley Quinn.” He put away the radio, staring down his targets. “You three know you’re not supposed to be out here.”

            “Can’t ya just let us off with a warnin’, officer?” Harley asked innocently, clutching the snowball behind her back all the more tightly.

            By that time, several more cars had amassed behind Gordon’s. Apparently, Freeze could wait. “You’re all under arrest,” Gordon stated, “and I think you know why.”

            “All right,” Peter decided, beaming widely. “Do it now.”

            He, Garfield, and Harley, in one fluid motion, brought out their hidden snowballs and pelted Gordon in the face with them. As the commissioner stumbled backward, the trio turned and ran as fast as they could, laughing and screeching all the way.

            By this time, several officers had caught up to Gordon. “Should we go after them?” one asked.

            Gordon was caught between the wayward trio and Freeze. And after a brief moment of thought, Freeze won out. “No. Let’s get back to the mission at hand.”

 

* * *

 

            “Okay, you just picked up the best sword in the game,” Garfield informed Peter during yet another late-night video game session. “Equip it right now and NEVER take it off.”

            “Are you KIDDING me?” Harley argued. “It’s more like the WORST sword in the game! Peter, leave it alone. You want the NEXT sword.”

            “No, THAT’S the worst sword in the game,” Garfield insisted. “All it does is boost magic. You don’t want that sword.”

            “Um, excuse you,” Harley retaliated, “but magic is the only way to beat the game. You gotta focus on upgradin’ all your spells and bein’ able to HEAL. You can’t just expect to beat everything to death with the strongest sword!”  
            “Um, yes. Yes, you can. You don’t NEED magic. I don’t even get why there’s magic in this game. It’s just a distracting mechanic.”

            “That sword’s ugly, anyway. The next one’s way cuter.”

            “YOU DON’T PICK SWORDS BECAUSE THEY’RE CUTE, HARLEY!”

            As his friends argued, Peter decided he liked the statistics of a completely different sword than either of them wanted, equipped it, and left it there for the rest of the night. Neither Garfield nor Harley noticed.

 

* * *

 

            Neither Garfield nor Peter had found an interesting job in a while, so they made a night out of haunting the Fourth Circle in case anyone was seeking a thief or an arsonist, and Harley tagged along for the fun of it. However, it seemed that night, no fish were biting.

            “How can no one need anything burned down?” Garfield sighed.

            “And no one needs anything stolen, either,” Peter added. “Pity.”

            Harley nodded solemnly. “Sorry this didn’t pan out, guys. At least we…”

            A certain song began to float forth from the great speakers, and Harley immediately perked up. “That’s my SONG!” she screamed, running out onto the dance floor and immediately bopping along.

            “You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Peter remarked, watching Harley groove to the beat. Her moves weren’t choreographed, and her coordination wasn’t the best, but she was obviously having fun, and her energy was utterly infectious.

            “What’s not a…” Garfield realized where Peter was going. “Oh, no. Ohhhhh, no, no, no. Listen. You guys won me over to snowball fights. You guys won me back over to cartoon musicals. And I don’t regret any of that. But you are NOT getting me to DANCE.”

            “And why not?”

            “Because…I just don’t, okay?”

            Peter could sense that unlike Garfield’s usual brand of stubbornness, there was a sense of trepidation, maybe even anxiety, here. He forged his battle plan around it. “Suit yourself. If you need me, I’ll be enjoying myself.” He gave Garfield one last coy look with a wink as he stepped out onto the floor.

            Garfield’s theory about what Peter was like as a dancer was absolutely correct. The man was hypnotizing, moving fluidly and gracefully, spinning and snapping to the rhythm of the music that permeated the room. Though he was obviously making everything up as he went along, he gave off the impression that he’d spent years choreographing this very dance. Garfield found he actually couldn’t take his eyes off of him, always wondering what he’d do next, how beautiful he could truly be when given the right song as a backdrop.

            Peter and Harley crossed each other, and Peter whispered something to Harley, who nodded. They passed each other again, and Harley whispered back. Garfield wondered momentarily whether Peter had been lying about Harley being his secret crush. The two did seem to complement each other well.

            It didn’t even occur to him that their whispering was the organization of a sinister plan until both of them suddenly rushed Garfield, each grabbed one of his arms, and dragged him forcibly out onto the dancefloor.

            “Whoa, no, no, NO!” Garfield protested, but by that time, they’d thrust him into the crowd of dancers, all moving in their own way to the infectious thrumming of the music.

            “Come on!” Harley encouraged, nudging Garfield in the upper arm before resuming her energetic movements.

            “Surely you won’t be the only one on the floor not to dance, Garfield,” Peter challenged, returning to his own poised, complex frolic.

            “All right,” Garfield sighed. “You win. As usual.” If he was going to dance, he thought, he wasn’t going to half-bake it. He would go all-out. There was simply no in-between. And so he began to move.

            His dance was perhaps the biggest spectacle on the floor. Garfield Lynns was the most uncoordinated bundle of flailing limbs to be found in the Fourth Circle. He kicked, he jumped, he nearly stumbled but attempted to save himself time after time. After some time, he became aware of two very distinct laughs; he halted to see that Peter and Harley had ceased their dance in order to have a chuckle at him. “Great,” he sighed. “You guys drag me out here just to laugh at me. I’m done.” He made to storm off the floor.

            “No!” Peter put a hand up to Garfield’s chest to stop him, almost desperate in the act. Garfield regarded him with a good degree of confusion.

            “We promise not to laugh anymore,” Harley said sincerely, and Peter gave an emphatic nod.

            “We’ve had our fun laughing,” Peter vowed. “Now we’re going to have our fun dancing.”

            “I. SUCK. At dancing,” Garfield emphasized.

            “You just need to dance a little closer to me, then,” Peter said with the most coy version of his smile yet. “I’ll make you look good.”

            “If anyone could,” Garfield admitted, “it’d be you.”

            “Spin,” Peter commanded, taking one of Garfield’s hands and raising it high over both their heads. Garfield made a quick, clumsy spin before Peter pulled him back into a dip.

            “Now,” Peter stated, looking down at Garfield, “you’re on your own.” He jerked Garfield back up to full height before spinning away to dance on his own.

            “Eh…what’ve I got to lose?” Garfield gave a shrug, then resumed his frenetic flailing.

            Some of the others who looked from afar found it completely hilarious that the infamous Firefly had absolutely no rhythm or coordination. However, most simply glanced over the trio as a whole, and so long as Garfield was flanked by the lithe Peter and lively Harley, the unit didn’t look half bad.

            It was at that moment that Garfield realized he really needed to just stop complaining and let Peter and Harley talk him into whatever they wanted, as cutting loose and dancing without a worry about what his potential clients might think of him had yielded him the most fun he’d had in a long time.

 

* * *

 

            Despite being the oldest of the triad, Peter had considerably less experience playing video games than Harley and Garfield. The latter two had to instruct him how to wield many a controller.

            All the same, the man was an absolute savant at racing games.

            “That’s thirty-four for thirty-four,” he boasted as he pulled into the lead and crossed the finish line, all the while hanging upside-down from his chair and still managing to play perfectly coordinatedly.

            “How…how are you even doin’ that?” Harley asked in awe.

            “Okay, but you’re not getting thirty-five,” Garfield vowed. “Harley, team-up to run him off the track?”

            “I’m on it!” Harley crowed.

            “Victory number thirty-five, coming up,” Peter muttered as they started another round.

 

* * *

 

            Harley was as happy as ever as she burst into the safehouse in full costume. “You guys just missed the GREATEST heist!” she laughed. “Say what you want about Mr. J, but he knows how to have a good time!”

            Peter and Garfield looked away from the sitcom they’d been riffing. “So you’re giving us permission to say whatever we want about Joker?” Peter teased.

            “That’s your takeaway?” Harley sighed. “I’m gonna go clean up.” She headed to the bathroom to wash off her clownish makeup.

            “Bat give you any trouble?” Garfield called after her.

            “Not a bit!” Harley yelled back. “He didn’t even show up until it was too late and we were already on the getaway! You shoulda seen the look on his face! You shoulda seen the look on the BATGIRL’S face!” She emerged proudly from the bathroom. “So! What’re we watchin’?”

            Peter and Garfield stared at her in somewhat of shock, trying to figure out how to bring up what she’d revealed when she removed her makeup.

            “Somethin’ wrong?” Harley asked, confused.

            “How’d you get…” Garfield used a finger to circle a ring around his eye.

            “Aw, man…” Harley moaned, leaning back into the bathroom to get a look at herself in the mirror. She was sporting a rather prominent black eye. “I did get a shiner.”

            “How did that come about?” Peter asked, reiterating Garfield’s sentiment.

            “Uh…” Harley thought it over. “We had a real bad bout with the Batman!” She walked over to the couch and plopped down on the cushion next to Garfield. “He got me right in the eye – “

            “Um, you just said you got away before the Bat could touch you,” Garfield reminded her.

            “Yeah…I did, didn’t I?” Harley realized. “I might’ve gotten some of the events of the story mixed up…”

            “You’re lying, aren’t you?” Peter figured. “Harley, why are you lying?”

            “Well…okay, I know exactly how I got it,” Harley admitted, “but ya gotta promise you won’t freak out.”

            She was met with a dual response of “No promises.”

            All the same, Harley knew she had to come out with the truth. “I kinda got in Mr. J’s way,” she revealed. “And he…well…he’s real sorry, and he said he wouldn’t do it again – “

            “WHAT?” Garfield and Peter blurted at once.

            “That’s it,” Peter decided. “You’re not dating him anymore. Starting now. Problem solved.”

            “Hey!” Harley snapped. “You can’t tell me who I can and can’t date! Which one of us has the online psychology degree? WHICH one of us knows romance better than anybody else? It was an accident!”

            “Sure it was,” Garfield said dryly. “Because we can all buy Joker being a sweetheart.”

            “He IS to ME!” Harley insisted. “What do you guys care, anyway? Peter, you tried to blow me up with one of my own grenades when we first met!”

            “We weren’t friends then,” Peter specified. “We were in the middle of a turf war. Insofar as the contents of a jewelry store are turf.”

            “As the adult of the house – “ Garfield began.

            “Still older than you,” Peter reminded him.

            Garfield fixed Peter with a pointed gaze. “Okay, of the two of us, which one of us contorted himself into a public mailbox and couldn’t figure out how to get back out while the other had to try and melt down the box without taking out that first person’s face in the process?” He turned back to Harley. “The thing is, normally, we couldn’t care less about Joker treating his henchpeople like crud. But we kind of adopted you, so now you have to deal with us disapproving when your boyfriend SOCKS YOU IN THE FACE.” It was true; neither passed judgment when it came to hearing about other villains smacking their henchpeople around, and there had been times both had wanted to just shove Killer Moth off a bridge and be done with it. Harley, however, was a different case. Once again, she was just far too likable to Garfield and Peter’s tastes for them being able to stand for her being abused.

            “It wasn’t like that!” Harley asserted.

            “You’re saying he DIDN’T sock you in the face?”

            “Well…he…he did, but…”

            “You’re done with him,” Peter insisted.

            “Because YOU said?” Harley stood up. “This is why I didn’t wanna tell you guys. I KNEW you’d make a big deal out of this. You’ve NEVER understood what I see in him, and I know it!”

            Peter stood as well, reminding Harley that he was taller. “Maybe we don’t understand what you see in him. But I think we understand him. And it’s time for you to let…him…go.” He mimed a motion reminiscent of letting go of a balloon string. “It isn’t hard.”

            Harley blinked hard; tears were welling up. “I don’t have to take this from you guys.”

            “Did you tell Joker that when he slugged you?” Garfield asked, taking a standing position as well.

            “Neither of you can stop me from bein’ with him,” Harley went on, now unable to stop the tears from pouring. “It just…it isn’t what you think!” She turned to head for the door.

            “What, you’re WALKING OUT now?” Garfield called after her.

            “I’ll come back,” she promised. “And maybe when I come back, you two will stop bein’ such jerks!” She stormed to the exit, slamming the door hard.

            “He slugged her in the face,” Garfield reiterated, “and WE’RE the jerks? I mean, yeah, Peter, you’re ALWAYS a jerk, but this time, we…whaaaaaat are you doing?”

            “Suiting up,” Peter answered casually as he stepped into his bedroom, closing the door all but a crack.

            “For WHAT?” Garfield asked, baffled.

            “She’s right, you know,” Peter called back out through the slightly open door. “We can’t stop her from seeing him. But we CAN get back at him for giving her a black eye.” He emerged from the room in full guise as Ragdoll. “You’ve heard the phrase ‘an eye for an eye,’ haven’t you?”

            “What are you gonna do?” Garfield asked. “Punch JOKER in the face?”

            “That’s the plan.”

            “I want in,” Garfield decided.

* * *

 

            In a warehouse by the city limits, Joker had lined up several hired hands who had worked for him since the Rumor incident; Harley was absent, having decided to take time to herself, and Joker couldn’t care less about this. He paced back and forth before them, giving them their briefing. “Thanks to our last success, we have everything we need,” he informed them. “Gotham isn’t going to know what hit it!”

            “But you are,” a smug voice stated from behind Joker.

            Joker turned about-face to see Firefly and Ragdoll standing behind him. “Well, it isn’t every day I get visitors!” he remarked, clasping his hands in mock flattery. “Third-rate hacks, of course, but still, visitors. Now, what do you two want? And it better be good.”

            Without needing a further cue, Ragdoll drew back his right fist, and Firefly drew back his left. They both let fly, and their fists connected gloriously with Joker’s face, drawing a cry of rage out of him as the purple-clad supervillain toppled over backward.

            At first, Firefly and Ragdoll were filled with satisfaction; they’d just punched one of Gotham’s most powerful and influential crime lords in the face. But as Joker peeled himself off the ground, glaring daggers, it occurred to them that punching one of Gotham’s most powerful and influential crime lords in the face might not have been such a good idea after all.

            “Oh, boys,” Joker commanded, “show our guests the way out.”

            The legion of henchmen advanced, pounding weapons such as crowbars into their hands.

            “…Toodles?” Ragdoll volunteered before Firefly seized him and took off to escape through the skylight they’d entered through.

            “We might have just screwed up,” Firefly admitted. “He is NEVER going to let us forget this.”

            “If he wants revenge,” Ragdoll reminded Firefly, “he’ll have to catch us.”

            “I bet he has a way. This isn’t over by a long shot.”

            “I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Ragdoll stated confidently.

 

* * *

 

            Two weeks later, Firefly and Ragdoll exited the site of their latest heist, an electronics developer where prototypes for the latest cell phone were being held, with arms full of stolen goods they knew would fetch some excellent prices among the clientele of the Fourth Circle. On their way to deposit their prizes in the ice cream truck, they noticed that said truck had completely disappeared.

            A high-pitched laugh unmistakably belonging to Joker broke through the night. The truck was visible disappearing around the corner in the distance.

            “He did NOT,” Firefly groaned.

            “Could be worse,” Ragdoll pointed out. “He could have tried to – “

            As Ragdoll was speaking, Firefly noticed the small lavender device left where the truck had been parked; “R.D., LOOK OUT!” Dropping the phone prototypes, he grabbed hold of Ragdoll and immediately blasted off into the sky; the sudden movement caused Ragdoll to drop everything he was carrying as well.

            Below them, the bomb exploded, taking out a couple nearby parked cars as well as everything Firefly and Ragdoll had taken care to steal. But, fortunately, due to Firefly’s quick recognition of the bomb for what it was, he and Ragdoll made it out of the blast range.

            “…blow us up,” Ragdoll finished halfheartedly.

 

* * *

 

            “What did you guys DO?” Harley asked in disbelief as she entered the apartment. “Mr. J completely repainted the truck, and I asked him to give it back, but he just outright refused.”

            “He can keep it,” Peter replied from his usual position on the chair. “It probably smells of him now anyway.”

            “Look, I’m sorry for snappin’ at you guys about Mr. J,” Harley sighed, “but this has gotta stop.”

            “We got our revenge,” Garfield informed her. “I think we’re good.”

            “We can’t stop you from seeing him, after all,” Peter added. Then, half under his breath but still audible, “as much as we’d love to.”

            “He…he asked if I knew where you two were hidin’ out,” Harley admitted, shuffling her feet. “I said no. I still believe he never meant to hurt me. But…I don’t trust him not to hurt either of you.”

            “You probably shouldn’t trust either of us not to hurt him, either,” Peter pointed out.

            “That too,” Harley admitted sternly. “Can we all just agree to disagree here?”

            Peter and Garfield looked to each other, and they could read each other’s mind perfectly: they still had many, many problems with Joker thinking he could smack their friend around as he pleased. However, the only thing they could do further to protect Harley at this point would be to tie her up and lock her in the back room, and that would have completely defeated the purpose. She was bent on seeing Joker, and there was no stopping her with words alone. Agreeing to disagree was the only viable option left.

            “Agree to disagree it is,” Peter relented.

            “It’s your turn to pick for movie night, by the way,” Garfield added.

            Harley settled down onto the couch, and things returned to relative normalcy.

 

* * *

 

            Such were the ups and downs of the year that Gotham spent rebuilding since the attack of the Joining. After all that time, Peter reflected, it would only have made sense for his feelings for Garfield to have abated.

            But instead, they had become stronger, and by the end of the year, Peter was absolutely in love with him.


	8. Homicide Squad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for violence/gore.

Garfield couldn’t believe his good luck as he strolled into the Fourth Circle alone. He had only just returned from a job he’d been contracted for by none other than Tony Zucco (“As in the head of the Zucco family, Tony Zucco?” he’d asked upon introduction. “As in you’re LOADED and willing to pay BIG TIME, Tony Zucco?”). The assignment, to torch a business acting as a front for a rival crime family, had gone off without a hitch, and Garfield was looking ever forward to reaping the reward.

            He found Tony sitting in the very back corner of the club, his table shrouded by shadows, hidden from the piercing multicolored strobes. The man’s eyes – one blue, one brown – were fixed on Garfield from the moment he entered. Garfield approached with a smirk. “I heard the fallout from whatcha did,” Tony informed him. “Very nice.”

            Garfield pulled out a chair from the out-of-the-way table and had himself a seat. “I’d like to think I did a pretty good job of making it look like an accident.”

            “I’d say that deserves a special reward.” Zucco placed a briefcase on the table. Garfield opened it, finding it filled with cash, and began to transfer his earnings into his duffle bag. “And since you did such a good job, I’m actually considering hiring you for another gig.”

            “Seriously?” Garfield tried not to look too elated at the prospect. He leaned casually across the table. “What’d you have in mind?”

            “The thing is,” Tony explained, “your specialty is arson. What I’m lookin’ for is somethin’ else.”

            “Yeah? Like what?”

            “There’s someone I want found,” Tony answered.

            Garfield nodded. “You want me to bump somebody off, huh? Well, it’s definitely not what I usually do, but I’ll give it a shot.”

            “No, no, no.” Tony shook his head. “I want this one alive. I’m asking for a simple abduction. See, I want the honor of taking care of this one myself.”

            “Fair,” Garfield replied. “So, who’s the target?”

            “Lemme tell ya a little story,” Tony replied. “You don’t mind hearin’ a little story, do you?”

            Garfield didn’t want the nature of his next job to be put off any longer, but one didn’t simply contradict Tony Zucco. He paid well, but he also punished well, and he had a wide view of what could be considered an infraction against him. “I’m all ears.”

            “See, the Zuccos weren’t always criminal underground royalty,” Tony explained. “We used to be circus folk. Our show toured them all: Gotham, Central City, Bludhaven. My brothers were a strongman, a lion tamer, and a juggler. And me? I was the knife thrower. My dad ran the whole show. ‘The Miraculous Zuccos,’ we were called. Ran that kind of life for decades. See, the thing about my dad is that he thought family was the most important thing. Our circus was a family operation, and I don’t just mean our family. My dad had an old friend who he invited to help run the show. Now, this was back in the day when people weren’t too politically correct for freak shows, and dear old Dad’s friend was the ringleader of the freak show. He collected all sorts. Bearded ladies, conjoined twins…some of ‘em were real, and some of ‘em were products of stage makeup.

            “But Dad’s friend had this kid. And as time passed, it turned out the kid was…gifted. Freakishly gifted. His own dad put him on center stage as the primary attraction of the freak show, and he quickly became the most popular act. The best part is, what he did was one hundred percent real. No stage effects on that one. The people loved him. Ate his performances up. We gave him a cute little name, too. He was almost a bigger sell than the Miraculous Zuccos.”

            “Lemme guess where this story’s going,” Garfield interrupted. “The kid’s the one you want taken down.”

            “Well, he ain’t no kid no more,” Tony clarified. “This was years and years ago, Lynns. But he ended up costing me big. See, my dad and I had our act scripted down to the letter. We’d pin him up to a board, and I’d throw the knives at him while he’d pray I didn’t miss. We had this little routine worked out. I’d tell the audience, ‘Don’t try this at home! I’m a trained professional!’ And Dad, he’d just groan and say, ‘I knew we shoulda given you piano lessons!’ Continued this until I was about thirty. Well, one day…” A sly smirk spread over Tony’s face. “I missed. And the old man bought it.”

            Garfield didn’t believe for a minute that Tony had actually missed, but that was the point, wasn’t it?  
            “They shut down the entire circus after that,” Tony went on. “The thing is, I wasn’t too broken up about that. I’d been getting tired of the whole show anyway. I wanted somethin’ a little more outta life, y’know? Of course, this meant dear old Dad had gone up to that great big top in the sky…but by the end, we didn’t have the best relationship in the world. Let’s just say I grieved in my own way.

            “That is, until the cops showed up on my door accusing me of premeditated murder. They thought I killed the old man on purpose. Now, do I seem like the kinda guy who’d off his own father to you?”

            “Um…no?” Garfield replied. Outright lies, but he knew it was what Tony wanted to hear.

            “Family really is everything,” Tony went on. “But the cops swore they had a firsthand witness who heard me planning out the murder. Now, here’s the thing. Maybe…just maybe…there was a conversation that was had in the back of the tent about how the old man was startin’ to drive me nuts. And just maybe, I said a few things I didn’t think anyone but my brothers could hear. Now, my brothers, they wouldn’t rat me out. They were actually indicted as accomplices, so I knew it couldn’t have been one of them. But that day, in that room, there was a box.”

            “And you think the box ratted you out,” Garfield commented.

            “It was just your average box for storing spare costumes,” Tony went on. “Pretty small box, though. And I happen to know the freak kid liked to use it to practice for his act. Didn’t occur to me he might’ve been in that box, listening to me. The little rat sold me and my brothers out for reward money, and we ended up in the slammer. How’s that for loyalty? We treated him like a cousin of sorts, and he threw us all under the bus.”

            “Ouch,” Garfield said with a fake flinch for effect. “I see why you want him reined in.” Something about Tony’s story was starting to nag at his brain; some detail had sounded just a bit too familiar. But he didn’t pay it any attention.

            “Soon as my brothers and I got to freedom, we tracked him down,” Tony continued. “Never found him, unfortunately. But we did find his dad. Our dad’s old friend. Now, HE ended up having a little…accident with a kitchen knife. Thought maybe that would draw the kid out. He was just fifteen, after all. The opposite happened. He ran, and he disappeared. Thirty years, and we didn’t hear a peep out of him. Thought maybe he’d just been wiped off the face of the earth. Oh, you better believe my brothers and I hunted for him for the first five years, but there wasn’t a trace to be found. That is…until just this year. Would you believe we got wind that he’d become a criminal in his own right? A cowardly little thief. And the best part? He was usin’ the stage name we gave him in the freak show as his ‘supervillain’ identity. We made him who he is, and he probably doesn’t even think to give us a bit of the credit. We’ve been closin’ in on him…but he’s still slippery. Always has been. We’ve been able to pick up information here and there. Medical records. Police details. But we still can’t FIND him.

            “Now, this is where you come in. My brothers and I, we’re a cornerstone of Gotham crime, but we don’t do the whole ‘costumed supervillain’ bit. You, Lynns, on the other hand…that’s your world. Maybe you know where he is. And if you don’t, it’d probably be pretty easy for you to find him. Everyone of that type seems to know each other around here, even if it’s just Joker, Riddler, and Freeze steppin’ on each other’s toes.”

            Garfield shrugged. “Maybe. What am I looking for?”

            “Here.” Tony withdrew a small picture from his pocket. “This oughta give you a starting point.” He flicked the photograph across the table.

            Garfield picked it up. It depicted a blond teenager in a red-spangled leotard, giving the camera a wide smile. At first, he didn’t think much of it, but then he realized, shakingly, that he recognized that face. And just as he figured it out, Tony cleared it up:

            “That’s the kid. Peter Merkel. We’re hopin’ you can bring our little Ragdoll back to his toy box.”

            Garfield’s blood ran cold. Tony Zucco wanted his best friend dead. There was absolutely no way in that world or any other that he would do what Tony was asking of him. But he knew it wouldn’t stop at him. The Zuccos were known for being relentless, for chasing down what they wanted until they got it. If Firefly couldn’t bring Peter to them, then they’d find somebody else who would and could. Garfield’s heartbeat quickened, and he had to will himself not to be short of breath, to keep breathing at a normal rate, not to give himself away. At the very least, he could try and juice a little benefit out of this. “I’ve got ya covered,” he stated coolly. “But for a job this out of the way, I’m gonna need an advance payment. At least half.”

            “I figured you would,” Tony told him. “Count your cut from the last job again. You’ll find I paid you more than enough. That’s your advance. Finish the job, and you’ll have enough to retire from the arson business permanently. Somethin’ tells me I can count on you for this, Lynns.”

            “You know it,” Garfield replied. “I’m not gonna get given the slip by some freak calling himself ‘Ragdoll.’”

            “Catchin’ up to him’s harder than you’d think,” Tony reminded him.

            “No promises,” Garfield said as he rose from the table, “but I’ll betcha I can have him here by this time tomorrow.”

            “Do that, and your reward doubles,” Tony promised.

            “Then you’ll have your man.” Garfield nodded, then turned to leave.

            “Lynns.”         

            Garfield halted long enough to see what more Tony wanted of him.

            “We’ve discussed what happens if you get the job right.”

            “WHEN I get the job right,” Garfield corrected from over his shoulder.

            “But we didn’t talk about if you failed. Don’t screw this one up, Lynns. My brothers will know how to find you.”

            “I won’t make myself hard to find,” Garfield lied. “I’m not gonna screw it up.”

            “Good.”

            Garfield kept a steady pace as he walked out of the club and down the block. Then he broke into a panicked sprint. He was in deep trouble. The Zuccos would definitely come after him once they realized he was skirting the job.

            But whatever happened to him wouldn’t be half as bad as what would happen to Peter if they found him.

* * *

 

            Harley and Peter were immersed in a game of Life, and Harley had just landed on her fifth child. “I’m runnin’ outta names,” she sighed, adding a pink peg to her car. “Maybe ‘Julia.’”

            “I’ve always been fond of ‘Petra,’” Peter teased.

            “No,” Harley said sternly. “I take this name thing seriously, okay? And I’m not namin’ her after you. Spin.”

            Peter landed on a space demanding he add a daughter of his own to his car. “You gonna name her ‘Harley’?” Harley teased.

            “I rather like ‘Lynn.’”

            “You’re obsessed, y’know that?”

            Garfield practically threw the door open, and both Peter and Harley could see that he was panicked. “Gar?” Harley greeted nervously. “You look like you just – “

            “We have to get out,” Garfield stated, storming into the apartment and looking around. “What do we need to take?”

            “Well, while I would admit some fresh air would be nice,” Peter commented, “I have to ask exactly what you’re talking about.”

            “OUT,” Garfield reiterated. “Out of this apartment. Out of GOTHAM.”

            “Might I ask why?”  
            Garfield walked over to the table and slammed his hands down on it, upsetting all the plastic cars on the board as he stared Peter down. “Because you never told me the ZUCCOS were after you.”

            “Now, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” Peter replied.

            “You ratted TONY ZUCCO out for killing his dad so you could get the reward money?”

            “In my defense, I didn’t know he would become an infamous crime boss at the time,” Peter stated. “Not in my defense, I’d do it all over again. The police department paid me very handsomely for that information. And I wasn’t wrong, you know.”

            “I…can’t…believe you,” Garfield sighed. “Tony Zucco contracted me tonight to BRING you to him. He’s willing to pay top dollar for me to drop you into his hands so he can KILL you.”

            “That man can hold a grudge,” Peter said casually.

            “HOW ARE YOU STILL CALM ABOUT THIS?” Garfield screamed.

            “Gar…” Harley broke in. “Stayin’ calm is probably our best move right now.” If only she could take her own advice, she thought. She knew the Zuccos were relentless pursuers, and her stomach was beginning to turn at the thought of them being after her friends.

            “When I’m gone for too long,” Garfield explained, “they’re going to know I bailed on the job. Then they’ll come looking for both of us. No, make that all three of us, if Harley keeps hanging around. They will FIND us. And then all three of us are going to go – “ He made a slicing motion across his neck with his arm.

            “Not necessarily – “ Peter mimicked the same movement. “After all, these are the Zuccos. They’ll probably torture us first.”

            “PETER!”

            “Let’s just focus on our plan, okay?” Harley said shakily. “We gotta figure out how to hide you two.”

            “And you?” Garfield asked her.

            “Me?” Harley replied. “It sounds like they don’t know I’m involved with either of ya. And Mr. J will protect – “

            “NO. HE. WILL. NOT,” Garfield growled. “I know we’ve been through this. I know we agreed to disagree. But if Peter and I bail, which we’re DOING, we’re taking you with us.”

            “You’re not gonna kidnap me,” Harley insisted. “And I ain’t leavin’ him. But…I can go as far with you two as to get you settled down.”

            “So we have until then to change your mind and get you to stay with us,” Peter concluded. “So, Garfield, where exactly are we going?”

            “I have no idea,” Garfield admitted. “Just…away from Gotham. We take what we need, and that’s it.”

            “You know, there are only four Zuccos,” Peter reminded him. “We could probably take them in a fight.”

            “Four Zuccos with a way better rep than we have,” Garfield reminded him. “They eat people like us for afternoon snacks, Peter. I’ve heard horror stories about the kind of people that went up against them and lost.”

            Peter decided to test the waters; “There is another option, of course. You could turn me in and let me take my chances with them.” He grinned, as per usual. “I think I’ve got a pretty good chance.”

            “NO, YOU DON’T!” Garfield snapped immediately. “I am NOT giving you up, okay? That is NOT happening. Don’t even THINK about it.”

            That was exactly what Peter had been hoping to hear, and he had to admit to himself his heart was warmed.

            “You go down,” Garfield went on, “I go down. That’s how it works.”

            “What about me?” Harley asked.

            “I wouldn’t trust Joker as far as I could throw him when it comes to protecting you,” Peter stated, “but if you really CAN get away from this safely, then, by all means, do.”

            Harley stood up. “I’ll help you guys pack.”

            Garfield stared Peter in the eye. “How come you never told me?”

            “Told you what?”  
            “About any of this,” Garfield answered. “About the Zuccos. About the circus. About your dad making you into a freak show. About Tony Zucco KILLING your family.”

            Peter shrugged. “It didn’t seem pertinent.”

            “Didn’t seem pertinent.”

            “I didn’t want your pity.”

            Garfield stared Peter down a moment longer, noting that he was still smiling. “You’re really not afraid of them, are you?”

            “Not one bit,” Peter replied smugly.

            A few moments later, Garfield, Peter, and Harley were busy stuffing clothes into suitcases. “So how’d you go from ratting out Tony Zucco to becoming a semi-high-profile thief?” Garfield asked.

            “After the Zuccos killed my father, I didn’t have anything left to my name,” Peter explained. “I was alone. I knew I had to take to the streets if I didn’t want the Zuccos to find me. And of course, with the circus shut down, I didn’t have a job. At least they paid me there. I still don’t want your pity, by the way.”

            It was getting rather hard not to pity him after all these revelations, Garfield thought, but he was willing to keep it to himself.

            “But as I told Harley, I always had felt a sort of kinship with the villains of fiction I’d known as a child,” Peter went on. “It then occurred to me that I could use my talents to commit crimes. I could break into anywhere I wanted and take whatever valuables caught my eye. I know you’re about to roll your eyes at me using this word again, but it was absolute destiny. After my first robbery, I knew there was no going back.”

            “So even without all that,” Garfield realized, “you probably still would have become Ragdoll.”

            “Well, they did give me the name,” Peter clarified.

            Harley clicked a suitcase closed. “I think we got everything.”

            “Next, we figure out how to run,” Garfield stated. “That’ll be on me. We probably can’t pass airport security, but we might be able to catch a boat or a train.”

            “But not right away,” Harley pointed out. “Whatever Gar gets, we’ll have to wait for. We need somewhere to wait. Mr. J hops old warehouses so often, he’s left a ton behind he ain’t gonna use again. I can make sure no one else’s usin’ it.”

            “Split?” Garfield asked.

            “Split,” Harley said with a nod. She turned to Peter. “What about you?”

            “Holding down the fort and protecting what we’ve packed, I suppose,” Peter volunteered. “If they haven’t found me after thirty years, they’re not going to find me after two hours.”

            “We meet back here,” Garfield decided.       
            “Let’s go!” Harley said enthusiastically, much more enthusiastically than she actually felt about the whole endeavor.

 

* * *

 

            It only did take a couple of hours for Garfield to secure transportation out of Gotham and Harley to scope out an abandoned warehouse. The pair arrived on the ground floor of Peter’s apartment building at the same time and immediately hustled into the same elevator.

            “You got a way out?” Harley asked.

            “Three tickets to a 5 p.m. train to the suburbs tomorrow,” Garfield answered. “You got a place we can wait it out until then?”

            “Old toy factory,” Harley replied. “Nobody’s gonna touch the place.”

            “Good.” Garfield nodded. “We just might make it out of this alive.” He sighed. “Y’know, I thought when I was going to leave Gotham, it would be with enough money to actually live the sweet life.”

            “Whaddaya mean by the sweet life?”  
            “Seeing the world. Living in the lap of luxury. Making one big vacation out of life. Going somewhere they’ll actually get my name right.”

            Harley nodded. “I feel ya. Won’t you miss being one of Gotham’s most famous criminals?”  
            “Maybe a little,” Garfield admitted. “There is a certain rush to the job. But doing nothing all day beats it every time.”

            “What about Peter?”

            “What ABOUT him?”

            “Wouldn’t you miss him if you went off on your sweet life?” Harley asked.

            “Not necessarily,” Garfield replied. “Probably not if I bring him with long enough to convince him how much better it is than trying to figure out what absurdly impossible entry point to use on every museum in the city.”

            “So you plan on taking him to see the world,” Harley reiterated, trying not to squeal at the concept. “Lettin’ him in on your dream life.”

            “If he wants,” Garfield answered, not sure why it was that big of a deal. “I know you probably want to stay around here with Joker, but if you ever change your mind, and you know Peter and I both REALLY want you to change your mind, you can come with us.”

            “You know I can’t leave Mr. J,” Harley reiterated for what she felt must have been the thousandth time. “But…your version of the sweet life does sound pretty good. Maybe I could visit you guys.”

            The elevator stopped at the proper floor, and Garfield and Harley disembarked, heading for the apartment. Garfield began to search his pockets. “Crud,” he muttered. “I was so focused on getting down to the train station and booking us a ride, I forgot to take a key. You got the spare we gave you?”

            “I was in too much of a hurry to think of that myself,” Harley admitted as the pair reached the door.

            Garfield sighed, raising a fist to bang on the door. “Hey, PETER! Let – “

            As soon as he touched the door, it swung inward. It hadn’t been closed, let alone locked. Garfield and Harley both felt their stomachs drop.

            “One of us forgot to close it on our way out,” Harley said, unsure of herself.

            “That’s probably what…” Garfield stepped into the apartment. “…hap…pened…uh…Harley?”

            “What?” Harley edged around Garfield into the apartment. At the sight, she immediately gasped in horror.

            The kitchen table had been knocked over, and broken glass littered the floor. One of the chairs as well as the couch in the living area had been upended, and the television screen was cracked. It appeared an apartment-wide brawl had taken place while Harley and Garfield were away.

            “Oh, no.” Garfield rushed toward Peter’s bedroom, throwing the door open. The suitcases they’d packed were still there, waiting in a neat line to be taken away, but there was no sign of life. “No, no, no, no, no.” He made the rounds of the apartment in a frenzy, slamming open every door. Peter was nowhere to be found. Almost shaking with panic, Garfield returned to where Harley was frozen with fear. “Okay. It’s okay,” he muttered. “This is probably his idea of a stupid joke, and he’s probably hiding in one of the cupboards or something.” He then yelled, “PETER! IF THIS IS YOUR IDEA OF A JOKE, IT ISN’T FUNNY!”

            “I don’t think this is a joke, Gar,” Harley said, her voice strained.

            “But how would they have found him?” Garfield asked. “He said himself they weren’t able to find him for thirty years! They shouldn’t have been able to find him the short time they were gone!”

            “Gar…” Harley was now shaking. “I…I think I figured somethin’ out…”

            “WHAT?”

            “Don’t most people in Gotham know you and Peter were workin’ together on crimes?” Harley pointed out. “It would’ve been pretty easy for Tony Zucco to ask. And once he found you, he…he didn’t have to actually make you bring Peter back. He just had to wait for you to go warn him. Then his guys woulda followed you in the shadows and remembered which way you went…”

            All of the things Tony had said ran through Garfield’s mind when Harley proposed her theory, and suddenly, they took on a sinister double meaning:

            “Maybe you know where he is. And if you don’t, it’d probably be pretty easy for you to find him.”

            “Somethin’ tells me I can count on you for this, Lynns.”

            “My brothers will know how to find you.”

            “…I’ve been set up,” Garfield realized. “This whole time. He knew. He KNEW I’d lead him right to Peter. That’s why he gave me the advance, too. It was worth it because he knew I’d bring him RIGHT HERE. I’m an IDIOT.”

            “What do we do now, Gar?” Harley asked worriedly.

            “What do we do?” Garfield repeated. His anxiety suddenly hardened into determination. “I don’t know what you’re gonna do. But I’m gonna go find Tony Zucco and make him give me my friend back.” He flung his own bedroom door open again; in their haste to take their prisoner, the Zuccos had obviously not bothered to mess with Garfield’s armor or equipment.

            “I’m comin’ with you,” Harley called out from the spare room where she’d left her own costume. “But I thought you said we couldn’t take the Zuccos.”

            “If you don’t think we can take the Zuccos,” Garfield called out, “then why are you coming?”

            “Because I ain’t gonna just sit back and let ‘em kill my friend if I can help it.”

            “I don’t know if we can take them,” Garfield admitted. “But now I have a very good reason to try.”

 

* * *

 

            The Fourth Circle was Gotham’s premier hangout for disorganized crime. More organized crime tended to revolve around the Ice Pick Club: a much rougher joint frequented by strongmen who were good with guns. At that hour of the morning, the club was all but deserted, only a few thugs gathered around a table to play cards while the night bartender washed out the shot glasses.

            Firefly burst into the facility all aglow, hovering menacingly near the ceiling; “Tony Zucco’s hideout. Now! Or I burn this place to the ground.”

            One of the mobsters rose, cracking his knuckles. “You just try it, bug-boy,” he growled.

            Harley zipped around from behind Firefly, her baseball bat colliding directly with the thug’s face. “YOU HEARD HIM!” she screamed. “ZUCCO! NOW!”

            The next man that tried to rush Harley took a baseball bat to the private parts and collapsed; Firefly set the card table ablaze, and the bartender rushed to grab a fire extinguisher before the flames could spread.

            “Geez, calm down, Sparky!” one of the remaining men at the table said with his hands up.

            “Don’t call me that,” Firefly growled. “I have no idea why, but of all the wrong names I’ve ever been called, that one rubs me the wrong way the MOST.”

            “Zucco doesn’t have a permanent hideout,” the man explained.

            “Well, then, tell me where he’d take somebody he wanted to kill,” Firefly demanded, aiming his gauntlet into the man’s face as the bartender finally put out the flames on the card table. The bartender then raised the extinguisher behind Firefly’s head, aiming to take him out from behind, but he forgot to account for Harley, who slammed her bat directly into his gut and caused him to drop the extinguisher on his foot.

            “He usually goes back to the circus for the irony,” the thug stated, sweating a little as he stared down the business end of Firefly’s gauntlet. “But there isn’t one in town right now, so he’s probably in Robinson Park. That’s where his old show used to set up.”

            “And how do I know you’re not lying?” Firefly growled.

            “Ga – Firefly, we’re runnin’ out of time,” Harley reminded him.

            “If I go to Robinson and Zucco isn’t there,” Firefly threatened, “I’m coming back for you. Got it?”

            The thug nodded nervously. At the same time, he discreetly reached for a hidden gun at a holster on his hip.

            “Good,” Firefly concluded before turning to leave.

            The thug brought up his gun to fire; Firefly was faster, spinning back around to blast it right out of his hand. “YOU DO NOT WANT TO MESS WITH ME RIGHT NOW,” he warned. He then grasped Harley around the waist and blasted off through the door with her, into the night.

 

* * *

 

            A soft breeze blew against Peter’s face, slowly waking him. As he moved slowly from unconsciousness to consciousness, he tried to recall what had happened. It slowly came back to him: how he had just begun to slip into boredom while waiting alone at the apartment when suddenly, all four Zuccos had forced the door, rushing him. Peter hadn’t gone down without a lengthy fight, and he’d managed to hold his own for probably longer than anyone could have expected against the four brothers. But in the end, three of them had held him down while Tony beat him over the head with a crowbar, and the next thing Peter knew…

            He was tied to a tree. His arms and legs had been bent back around the trunk and his wrists and ankles had been chained to each other. Of course Tony would have taken advantage of his flexibility, he thought. At least it was more awkward than uncomfortable.

            As Peter pried his eyes open, his vision shuddered a bit before becoming clear. Tony Zucco stood before him, tossing a knife into the air again and again and catching it, first the flat of the blade between his fingertip and thumb, then the handle in his fist, then repeating the process. His three brothers stood watch behind him. “Rise and shine,” Tony greeted. “I wasn’t gonna wait for you to wake up, but you just looked so peaceful sleeping. Like a little angel. Nobody would ever suspect what you were really like, lookin’ at you sleeping. Besides, I needed you awake for this. I wanted to see the look on your face.”

            “Tony Zucco,” Peter said drowsily. His mouth twisted up into its usual grin: “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

            “And there’s the proof that we got the right guy,” Tony stated, catching the knife by its handle and approaching Peter; Peter held stock-still as Tony lightly touched the tip of the blade to each corner of his mouth. “That idiot smile.”

            Peter had several things he wanted to say, but he wasn’t about to talk while there was a sharp surface that close to his mouth.

            “You can thank your little friend Garfield Lynns for cluing me in on where you were, by the way,” Tony taunted, stepping back and removing the knife. “Wouldn’t have caught you for another ten years if it weren’t for him.”

            Peter flinched. Had Garfield lied after all? Had he come to Peter pretending to warn him about Tony, only to have turned behind his back and delivered his location for money? It was a distinct possibility. All in all, though, it didn’t sound like Garfield, and Tony Zucco would say anything to get under Peter’s skin.

            “So…little Peter Merkel.” Tony went back to tossing the knife. “How does it feel? You almost ruined my life when you snitched on me.”

            “Actually, to this day, it still feels pretty good,” Peter confessed.

            Tony caught the knife by its handle again. “Part of me just wants to cut your throat,” he confessed. “End it all at once. Shut you up. But you and I both know that ain’t gonna be enough. I wanna make it hurt first. I wanna make you beg me to kill you. I wanna hear you scream for mercy. And I wanna take that smile right off your face.” He held up the knife. “Normally, I’d start by hitting you where it hurts a man most.” He let the knife fly; it thudded into the tree trunk between Peter’s spread thighs. “But I managed to get access to your medical records, and it looks like you already took care of that for me, didn’t you?”

            Peter swallowed hard. “If…I may have a request?”

            Tony withdrew another knife from a sheath at his belt; as he turned, Peter could see he had about five more at the ready. “Sure, go ahead,” Tony encouraged. “Maybe I’ll wanna humor you.”

            “Cut off my left fingers first,” Peter stated, sweating, still smiling. “Then my left hand. Then my whole left arm. Next, cut off my left toes. My left foot. My entire left leg.”

            “Interesting request,” Tony told him. “Is there any reason for that?”

            “So that I…” An awkward laugh. “I can tell people…” A slightly more confident laugh. “I’m ALL RIGHT now.”

            Caught off guard, even Tony found himself laughing, as did his brothers. “Same old Peter,” Tony chuckled. “Y’know, I might actually miss your stupid mug.”

            “Enough not to kill me?” Peter asked in vain hope.

            “Not that much,” Tony replied, approaching him with the next knife.

            Suddenly, a loud, enraged cry of “ZUCCO!” sounded from across the park. All heads turned to see Firefly zooming across the park at top speed, clutching Harley tightly. “YOU…ARE…DEAD!” Firefly punctuated.

            A wave of relief washed over Peter. Though, he realized, somewhere deep down, he had expected this to happen. He wouldn’t have let Garfield succumb to such a terrible fate, so why would Garfield do that to him?

            “Boys,” Tony commanded his brothers, “squash the bug and crush the clown.” He hurled his knife at the speeding pair of intruders.

            Firefly dropped Harley on the ground, where she rolled with the momentum before springing to a standing position. In the process, Firefly zipped out of the path of the knife, letting it zoom right past him.

            The lion tamer cracked his whip at Harley, only for her to raise her bat to catch it, wrapping the whip cord up around it. She swung the bat hard; the whip’s wielder lost his grip on the weapon. Harley then ran to swing the bat full tilt at the man’s head; he rushed to swing his fist at her at the same time. She sidestepped the punch, whacking the Zucco brother in the head. As she did so, the strongman rushed her from behind, grabbing her arm and wrenching it behind her back.

            Firefly blasted the strongman, who cried out as he let go of Harley, badly burned. The whip wielder was barely getting his bearings when Firefly landed in front of him, dealing a direct punch to his face. Meanwhile, Tony himself lobbed another knife at Firefly, only for Harley to catch it with her bat, swinging so that the blade thudded into the wood.

            “Did you do that on purpose?” Firefly asked in awe.

            “N – um, can we say yeah?” Harley replied.

            The last Zucco brother tossed several heavy clubs into the air, juggling them momentarily before letting them fly at Harley and Firefly. All they had to do was duck; the clubs slammed into the whip wielder and the strongman. Harley pried Tony’s knife out of her bat, jammed it into the grassy ground, and charged for the juggler, who was reaching for more clubs.

            Tony gripped his fourth knife, the longest and sharpest he had, rushing Harley straight on with it rather than throwing it. Harley sidestepped it, then, in a feat of dexterity that even surprised her, she avoided it thrice more before dealing Tony a kick to the stomach that sent him reeling. Firefly took her place attacking the juggler, aiming not at him but at the clubs; the man recoiled in shock when the wooden clubs came down into his hands aflame and burned his palms. He stomped the fire out as soon as the clubs hit the ground.

            Tony realized Firefly and Harley had only come to retrieve Peter. He knew it wouldn’t stop them…but he could certainly slow them down by removing their reason for coming to the park in the first place. He distanced himself from Harley and turned back to Peter, holding the flat of his knife between his fingertips.

            Peter knew exactly what Tony intended to do, and he was immediately stricken by terror. His first instinct was to call out to his hope of salvation: “GARFIELD!”

            Firefly whipped about to see Tony readying the knife. “NO!” He zipped toward the tree where Peter was tied, hoping to tackle Tony from the front before he could do anything with the knife.

            Tony let the blade fly.

            A scream of pain rang out across the park.

            Harley immediately looked to the source of the scream. Firefly had taken the brunt of the stab, lying on the ground and groping at where the long, sharp blade had pierced his armor through the shoulder, burying itself deep within his skin, dangerously close to his lung. And while he was down, Tony was reaching for yet another knife.

            Harley made a direct course for Tony, sprinting with bat in hand. The other three Zucco brothers charged after her, lining up perfectly straight.

            From where he lay in pain, Firefly looked up to see Harley running at Tony. The three Zuccos were gaining on her fast. She passed a heavy, leaning tree, and Firefly suddenly saw his opportunity. He turned the gauntlet of his non-injured side at the base of the tree, searing it completely so that the trunk severed from its base. His timing was perfect, and the tree fell upon the Zucco brothers, crushing them all with a sickening “crunch” sound.

            Tony had barely gotten his next blade into his hand, ready to finally embed it in Peter’s throat once and for all, when he suffered a strong WHACK from behind, dealt by Harley’s bat. His vision swam; Harley swung again with another WHACK. The knife slipped from his fingers. WHACK. He toppled and hit the ground, intending to get up. WHACK. He was no longer sure he could get up. WHACK. The world went dark.

            “LEAVE!” Harley screamed as she thudded the bat against Tony’s head over and over. “PETER! ALONE!”

            Even after Tony Zucco was definitely dead, she didn’t stop. Her rage and her fear over almost having lost both of her friends to Tony’s blades in one night propelled her weapon, and now sprays of red were flying up with every whack, staining her clothing and painting her face. She poured all her anxiety into the rhythm of the bat going up and down, up and down, colliding again and again –

            “I think he’s dead now, Harley. I actually think they’re all dead.”

            Harley ceased her rhythm, looking up to see Peter, still tied to the tree, giving her a slightly weaker smile than usual. She then looked down at her blood-soaked weapon, and further down still, almost vomiting when she saw what she’d done to Tony Zucco’s head.

            Firefly’s groan caught her attention; she rushed to his side, kneeling over him. “Gar! GAR! Are you – “

            “I’m fine,” Firefly grunted, gently waving Harley away as he stood up. “It’s not that bad.” It hurt like he couldn’t believe, and he knew the knife had dug in deep; he could feel warm blood pouring over his skin beneath his armor. “Let’s just…get outta here before the cops show up.”

            He staggered over to the tree where Peter was bound. “Hold still,” he commanded, going behind the tree to find the chains that held Peter in place. With extreme care, he was able to cut through them using his gauntlet; Peter gingerly tipped forward into a somersault and rolled away from the tree.

            Firefly clenched his teeth to try and distract himself from the pain in his shoulder as he dragged himself out from behind the tree.

            “Okay, you are NOT fine,” Harley insisted.

            “I will be,” Firefly insisted. “Just…gotta get back to the…” He wasn’t sure exactly how he got from his feet down to his knees, but it had happened.

            Peter quickly walked toward the downed Firefly, gently setting a hand on his unwounded shoulder. “Can you get that off?”

            “Get what off?”

            “The upper half of your suit. Can you get rid of it?”

            “Yeah…” Firefly reached up to remove his helmet first, revealing the beads of sweat that were pooling on his brow. Peter removed his hand, letting Firefly struggle out of his upper armor. Peter, in the meantime, stripped off his shirt.

            “What are you doin’?” Harley asked.

            “Being resourceful,” Peter answered, which didn’t really clear up Harley’s confusion. He knelt on the ground, picking up the knife Harley had shaken from her bat and using it to tear his shirt into strips.

            Firefly, by that time, was baring his wound openly, raw and crimson. Peter quickly bound Firefly’s chest with the strips of fabric he’d sliced, halting the blood flow as best he could.

            “Come to think of it,” Peter muttered, “Harley, THIS is the first advice I should have given you when you were starting out in villainy. Never go out without knowing how to bandage a stab wound.”

            “Thanks…” Garfield muttered breathlessly.

            “We gotta get him to a hospital,” Harley said softly.

            “No!” Garfield snapped. “No hospitals. Do you WANT them to lock all three of us up?”

            “But, Gar…”

            “NO. HOSPITALS.”

            “But how do we – “

            “I concur,” Peter stated to break the tie. “We’re better off staying out of the public eye. We have, after all, recently killed four men. Or, rather, you two did without letting me have any of the fun. We can treat Garfield’s injury back at the apartment. It should be safe to remain there. After all…there are no Zuccos left.”

            “We can’t just look up how to treat a stab wound on the Internet!” Harley protested.

            “Not with that attitude,” Peter retorted.

            “But what if it gets infected? What if he loses too much blood?”  
            “You can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Garfield grunted.

            “We’re just not going to let either of those things happen,” Peter resolved. “Garfield, can you walk?”

            “Yeah…” Garfield stood shakily. Peter was immediately at his non-wounded side to prop him up, wrapping an arm about him; Garfield lay his corresponding arm on Peter’s shoulder. Harley thought about going to Garfield’s other side, but realized that messing with his arm would probably only make him bleed harder, and instead picked up his helmet and the other bits of armor he’d had to discard, carrying them along with her bloody bat. The trio started out on the walk back to the apartment.

            “You’ll be fine,” Peter said confidently. Then, teasingly, he added, “My hero.”

            “Harley was the one who killed the guy,” Garfield reminded Peter. “She’s your hero.” He turned to smile at Harley. “Good going.”

            “Thanks,” Harley replied, trying her best to appear optimistic.

            “Well, Harley didn’t take a blade for me,” Peter stated. “That was all you.”

            “I was trying to stop him from throwing it in the first place,” Garfield grunted. “I wanted to actively AVOID anyone getting hit by a knife.”

            “Well, that ship sailed,” Peter remarked, somehow not betraying his elation that Garfield had come to rescue him after all, that he was now able to be so close to him. “You know, Tony Zucco tried to actually convince me that you’d betrayed me to him.”

            “I might as well have,” Garfield admitted. “They were tracking me from the minute I left. They KNEW I’d lead them to you, and I didn’t figure that out until it was way too late.”

            “But if you hadn’t let them take me,” Peter pointed out, “we wouldn’t have wiped them off the map permanently. And now we never have to worry about them again!”

            “Yeah!” Harley added.

            “Good,” Garfield replied. “We’ve had enough worrying about them for a lifetime.” He protectively tightened his grip on Peter, which didn’t go unnoticed by the latter, who was absolutely thrilled at the gesture.

 

* * *

 

            It was a long walk back, but eventually, the trio found themselves back at Peter’s safehouse, trudging through the mess that had been left in the scuffle.

            “Wow,” Garfield remarked, looking over it all again. “When someone tries to kidnap you, you DON’T go lightly.”

            “Really, Garfield, you flatter me,” Peter replied. “Now, it’s off to bed with you.”

            “But, Mom, I’m not even tired.”

            “No arguments, Garfield.”

            While Peter helped Garfield into the spare bedroom, Harley set down all of her cargo and laboriously flipped the couch to an upright position. She then curled up on said couch, hugging her knees, letting the shakes overtake her as her stomach boiled. She was all too sure that she and Peter wouldn’t be able to tend to Garfield’s wound, and all they would do was make him worse.

            Peter assisted Garfield in lying down on top of the bed he usually claimed as his own. “Comfortable?”

            “Outside of the huge stab wound in my shoulder, yeah,” Garfield grunted. “Hey, mind throwing me a pair of pants so I can get out of this suit for real?”

            Peter rifled through Garfield’s dresser, located a pair of sweatpants, and literally threw them at Garfield’s face.

            “Do you ever stop being a jerk?” Garfield asked, muffled beneath the fabric as he pulled the pants away with his good arm. “I just took a KNIFE for you. You could at least hand me things like a normal person.”

            Peter made a show of dramatically picking up the remote control for the television in that bedroom and very slowly handing it over to Garfield…behind his back and around the other side. Garfield swiped the remote.

            “I’m giving you ten minutes,” Peter informed him. “Then I come back with actual bandages. You’d better have pants on if you want pants on.”

            “Yeah, yeah.”

            Peter left Garfield to find the television channel of his choosing, pulling the door almost shut behind him. He then crossed to the kitchen, being careful to avoid any broken glass, dancing around shards and tiptoeing over the clean bits of floor until he found the cabinet where he kept most of his first-aid materials. “I hope you’re paying attention, Harley,” he stated. “You’re also going to want to keep most of these things on hand if villainy is your career of choice. Sooner or later, you’re going to get hurt.”

            He got a whimper in reply. He was somewhat surprised to see the position Harley had taken up on the couch, and so he set down the bandages and antibiotics he’d been gathering and approached her. “Now, tell me, Harley,” he commanded, “what’s wrong?”  
            “I’m scared we’re gonna lose him,” Harley replied softly without looking up.

            She suddenly became aware of a pair of wiry arms slipping around her midsection from behind, holding her tightly with an aura that was downright cheerful. “He’ll be fine,” Peter said right in her ear. “We’ll all be fine. You’ll see.”

            They remained in that position just long enough for Harley to begin to believe him. Then, as suddenly as he’d embraced her, Peter was gone, returning to minister to Garfield’s injury.

            Garfield half considered telling Peter to put another shirt on before deciding it really wasn’t all that awkward. “Listen,” he said as Peter began dabbing at his wound with a wet washcloth. “I know you said – OW. I know you said you didn’t want any pity over the whole thing with the freak show and your dad. But it just…it still sucks, all right? Also, OW.”

            Peter paused to shrug. “I’m over it.”

            “You would be,” Garfield muttered.

            “Garfield?”

            “Yeah?”

            “…Thank you.”

            “Hey, it’s no problem,” Garfield joked. “What are roommates for if not leaping in front of knives for each other?”

            It would have been so easy to just lean over a few inches and kiss him somewhere on his face, Peter thought. Perhaps the forehead, or the cheek. Instead, he replied, “What indeed?”

            Once he had Garfield’s wound cleaned, disinfected, and bound, the pair invited Harley in to sit on the bed with them as they browsed channels for anything relatively entertaining, with Peter curling up into the small far corner of the bed. A sense of calm finally settled over all three, and by the onset of day, they were all fast asleep.


	9. Arkham Light

Jeff Marsden, the barista on duty at Arrows, had just about had enough with his job. It seemed like his days came in one of two extremes: either some horrid supervillain (like the incident with Killer Moth a year prior) burst into his shop to terrify him into giving them free coffee, or his day was full of pranksters who refused to give him their proper name on their coffee.

            “Honeybee,” he sighed, holding out a latte.

            Garfield swiped the latte out of Jeff’s hands with a smirk. If people were going to keep mixing up his name, he was at least going to have fun with it. He took a swig of the hot drink right there at the counter, preparing to leave, when Jeff called out the next most ridiculous name someone had put on their coffee all day: “Blaze.”

            Garfield watched with interest as the redhead he’d encountered in GothCorp a year ago strode up to the counter to collect her coffee with a “Thanks.” She hadn’t gotten any less pretty in the time that had passed, Garfield noticed. It also struck him that he remembered her pretty well for only having met her once.

            “Heyyyyyyy,” he greeted.

            Blaze turned to him, at first ready to tell off whatever stranger had just greeted her to catcall someone else, but flinched as recognition washed over her as well. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

            “Getting coffee,” Garfield told her. “I bet you’re here for the same reason.”

            “You…” Blaze quickly stepped away from the counter, making her way toward the back hall that led to the restrooms, beckoning for Garfield to follow. Once the duo was out of the way of the public eye, Blaze whispered, “You shouldn’t BE here. Someone will recognize you.”

            “No one will recognize me. No one expects me to just be walking around Gotham, getting a coffee.”

            “I recognized you!” Blaze pointed out.

            “You’re the only one,” Garfield reminded her.

            “Well, it’s good to know you’re still the same after all this time,” Blaze sighed. “Here I was thinking I probably saw you for the last time when you went out to fight those aliens.”

            “So you’ve been thinking about me.” Garfield winked.

            “I…” Blaze became flustered. “Only sometimes. Not a lot.”

            “No shame,” Garfield told her. “To tell you the truth, sometimes I think about you, too.” And he had been. Every so often, the woman would come back into his mind for absolutely no reason, sometimes even in a dream. He chastised himself for such musings, as he had vowed to be thoroughly done with relationships, and the way she kept walking into his head, she was becoming dangerously close to a crush. But now, it seemed destiny (had he really thought of it as “destiny”? He’d been hanging around Peter far too long) had brought him and Blaze back together, and the very idea that he shouldn’t want her was drawing him in all the more.

            “You’re making that up,” Blaze accused.

            “No, really,” Garfield insisted. “I wonder what you’ve been up to. If you’ve revolutionized Gotham yet with your experiments.”

            “You don’t even wanna know about my experiments,” Blaze sighed.

            “Something happen?  
            “Long story you probably don’t care about.”

            “Try me,” Garfield invited. “Wanna get a table?”

            “Won’t people hear us?”  
            “People only hear what they wanna hear around here. Trust me.”

            Blaze thought it over, then nodded. “Okay. We can talk for a bit.”

            “Then you have to get back to work.”

            “I have to get back to LOOKING for work,” Blaze admitted. “I’ll explain more at the table.”

            Soon, they were seated across from each other near the coffee shop window. As Garfield’s shoulder nudged the pane, he winced slightly.

            “You okay?” Blaze asked in concern.

            “Yeah,” Garfield replied. “Just healing up an injury. It’s almost gone…it’s just being inconvenient. So tell me…what’s your story these days?”

            Blaze took a delicate sip from her coffee before setting the cup down and tracing the circular lid with her finger. “I…kinda got fired from the University.”

            “No kidding.”

            “I had some ideas about the practical applications of radioactive phosphorus,” Blaze explained. “Ideas that the administration didn’t think were safe. I knew I could handle it, so I pushed a little. They pushed harder, and now I’m out of a job.”

            “Y’know,” Garfield stated, “I like a woman who plays with fire.”

            Blaze fixed him with a downright murderous glare.

            “Too soon?” Garfield asked.

            “WAY too soon,” Blaze confirmed.

            “Still sucks that you got the axe,” Garfield went on, taking a pause to sip from his coffee. “I would’ve trusted you with nukes any day.”

            “You don’t even know me.”

            “I know I trusted you to outfit my lasers,” Garfield told her. “They worked like something out of a dream. Nukes couldn’t be too different from that, right?”

            “Actually, the makeup of lasers and nuclear power is INCREDIBLY different – “

            “Yeah, I know. I paid enough attention in science class. I just know you seem like a smart gal, is all.”

            Blaze found herself blushing. “Thanks,” she replied gingerly. “So…how’s work been for you?”

            “I’m sort of coming off medical leave,” Garfield explained, “but I’ve got prospects. Maybe this’ll finally be the year I make it.”

            “Make it to what?”

            “Make it out of here,” Garfield told her.

            “Why do you wanna leave?”

            “Why does EVERYONE ask that? Does everyone seriously think Gotham is a nice place to live? And, I mean, it would be understandable for me, but you have even more of a reason to be annoyed with this town. It’s packed with weirdo supervillains.”

            “I like the villains, remember?” Blaze reminded him. “Besides, there are villains everywhere you go. The most interesting ones seem to be here, though. It would kind of be a shame if one of them just left. Things might get boring.”

            “What, with Joker, Freeze, Riddler, and Penguin out there?” Garfield proposed. “Nuh-uh. This town ain’t gettin’ boring anytime soon. No one would miss Firefly.”

            “I would,” Blaze said with a coy smile.

            “I thought it was too soon for that kind of talk,” Garfield replied, equally coyly.

            “It is, isn’t it?” Blaze winked. “So what do you wanna do when you leave?”

            “Whatever I want,” Garfield explained. “See the world. Take it easy.”

            “That sounds like a dream, all right,” Blaze sighed. “Wish I could afford to think about that kind of life.”

            “Hey,” Garfield said seriously, “you’re SMART. You’ll find another job.”

            Blaze shrugged halfheartedly.

            “And if not,” Garfield added, “you could always go rogue. Become one of those villains you love. I bet you already have all kinds of tech you could use to get started.”

            “I would be the most terrible villain that ever existed.”

            “Wanna bet?”

            They locked eyes, and both felt a charge jolt them. After a synchronized sip of coffee, they went ever deeper into conversation, and before they knew it, hours had passed without either leaving Arrows.

 

* * *

 

            “So you’ll never guess who I ran into today,” Garfield told Peter as he procured a bottle of soda from the apartment refrigerator.

            “Spellbinder?” Peter hypothesized.

            “No.” Garfield took a long swig from the bottle. “It was – “

            “Maximillian Zeus.”

            “No. It – “

            “Gearhead?”

            “Peter. Stop guessing.”

            “All right,” Peter relented. “Who was it?”  
            “Remember Blaze?” Garfield asked. “That woman who loaded us down with weapons during the alien invasion? Turns out she’s still around. Sort of. Gotham University fired her for unsafe nuclear experiments. Can you believe that?”

            Peter was less than thrilled to hear that Blaze had come back into Garfield’s life. “How interesting.”

            “We actually had a pretty long talk today,” Garfield admitted. “And…we’re planning on having another…talk, later. Over dinner tomorrow.”

            “She sounds chatty.”

            “So, uh, here’s the thing.” Garfield wasn’t quite sure how to put his feelings into words. Perhaps it wasn’t something he should discuss at all. However, it seemed there was hardly anything he couldn’t tell Peter at this point. “You know how I’m all…over being in love and done with relationships? I, uh…might not actually be that…done with it.”

            Peter forced his smile to stay on his face. “You like her, don’t you?”

            “I like her a LOT,” Garfield emphasized, lighting up as he began to describe Blaze. “She’s a genius. She’s absolutely GORGEOUS. She’s just…really easy to talk, to you know? And I think she’s got a bit of a bad streak in her.”

            “I was just thinking you would probably have wanted someone MUCH more insidious.”

            “Oh, I think she could be insidious if she really wanted,” Garfield theorized. “She’s got a thing for the bad guys. And you KNOW this works in my favor.”

            “That it does,” Peter said dryly.

            “This is probably a bad idea,” Garfield admitted. “But I never forgot her for a whole year. That means something, doesn’t it?”

            “That you have an incredibly good memory?” Peter teased.

            “I think it might mean we’re sorta…meant to be,” Garfield concluded. “Or at least we’re meant to go on a few dates. Test the waters and all.”

            “If you must,” Peter relented.

            Garfield realized something was off. “Do you…have a problem with this?”

            “You have only met her twice,” Peter reminded him.

            “Yeah,” Garfield admitted. “And I feel THIS MUCH about her already. That HAS to mean something.”

            Peter couldn’t very well tell Garfield his actual problem with Blaze without admitting the secret he’d kept well guarded since the moment they’d met. And now that Garfield had his eyes on Blaze, Peter knew the revelation couldn’t possibly go over well. He was left with only one choice: to simply accept events as they were. After all, Garfield falling for someone else was miles better than him being hunted down by a tougher supervillain, for example. And there was always a chance that the Blaze endeavor wouldn’t pan out.

            And if it didn’t, maybe Peter would actually speak up. Perhaps it was his own fault for never making his feelings clear.

            Having found actual reasons to smile, Peter encouraged, “Well, then, go do what you must. Here’s hoping it’s destiny.” Here’s hoping it isn’t.

            “To destiny,” Garfield proclaimed before taking another long drink from the bottle…and then realizing exactly how much caffeine he’d intaken that day. All the better; he had a job that night for which he couldn’t afford to get sleepy now.

 

* * *

 

            One date turned into another, and then another and another. Garfield reported excitedly back to Peter and Harley that Blaze was making him all the happier the more time passed. He did not understand why Harley didn’t seem enthusiastic about the news of the new relationship at first.

            “Her?” Harley had asked. “Really?”

            “Really,” Garfield confirmed. “Is something wrong with her?”

            “I’m just…wonderin’ whatcha see in her.”

            “Um, EVERYTHING.”

            “You and her don’t really have a history.”

            “Since when has that mattered to you before?” Garfield wondered. “I thought you were all about love at first sight and all that sappy stuff. Seriously, is there something obviously wrong with her I’m missing? Does she smell like a garbage can to everyone but me? Is she a famous undercover cop?”

            Harley shook her head. “Nah. It’s just sudden, is all. I thought with you not wantin’ to fall in love again, that it would take somethin’…bigger to get you back on the horse, is all.”

            “Trust me,” Garfield insisted. “Blaze is a pretty BIG DEAL.”

            “I bet,” Harley sighed. She knew trying to talk Garfield out of dating Blaze was as fruitless as trying to talk her out of dating Joker. “You crazy kids just be sure and have fun out there, okay?”

            As soon as Garfield’s back was turned, Harley looked directly at Peter, mouthing the word “Sorry.” Peter just shrugged.

 

* * *

 

            It had been Harley’s turn to pick a movie for the past two weeks; Garfield had been ever absent, either on a job or out with Blaze.

            “They’re totally gonna break up,” Harley insisted. “You’ll get your shot. Trust me. You have every advantage over her. You think SHE ever nursed him back to health after he’d been stabbed? You think SHE can get him to dance or talk him into a snowball fight without him playin’ it all cool?”

            “Quite true!” Peter agreed, satisfied.

            “Here’s the thing.” Harley turned away from the television (which had been replaced since the Zucco incident), standing in front of Peter, staring him directly down. “If you don’t wanna miss the boat next time, you have to do exactly what I say. Got it?”

            “You are the expert at relationship advice,” Peter relented. “What must I do?”

            “When it’s over between him and Blaze,” Harley demanded, “and it will be soon, YOU TELL HIM HOW YOU FEEL. NO MORE EXCUSES. Am I clear?”

            “Crystal.”

            It was at that moment that Garfield entered the apartment, noticing his friends setting up for a movie night. “Hey,” he greeted. “Can we talk?”

            “What about?” Peter asked without moving from the chair.

            “Something pretty important,” Garfield began. “It’s…well, it’s about Blaze. I kinda need your attention here.”

            Harley shut off the television, and she and Peter walked over to the table where Garfield had sat down. Harley gave Peter a slight nudge, thinking this was going to be the announcement that Garfield and Blaze were over.

            Once all were seated, Garfield announced, “Blaze and I talked some things over, and…she wants me to move in with her. And I’m going to. Move in with her, that is.”

            Screeching brakes.

            “So…I’m gonna be clearing my stuff out of here tomorrow,” Garfield went on.

            “You’re breakin’ us up?” Harley whimpered.

            “I’m not breaking us up,” Garfield sighed. “We’re still going to be friends, okay? It’s just like how Harley lives with Joker and hangs out here a lot. I’m just…probably not going to be here as much as she is because Blaze doesn’t actually ignore me and tell me to get out of her way.”

            “Hey!” Harley snapped.

            Peter simply extended his hand across the table. “It’s been a pleasure rooming with you, Garfield.”

            Garfield took his hand and shook it. “If you say ‘Toodles,’” Garfield warned, “I will throw something at your face.”

            “You know me too well.”

            “Probably about time I got outta here, then.”

            Garfield didn’t notice that it took Peter just a bit too long to let go of his hand.

 

* * *

 

            And so Garfield moved out. He spent his time with Blaze, and Harley had much to do with Joker. Peter thought, at first, it would be fine. He’d spent years on his own before either of them had come into his life, after all.

            Within a few days, he was completely bored of being alone.

            Harley came visiting to find him lying on the floor, twisting his fingers around each other to see just how much he could tangle and disentangle them. “Okay, you’re startin’ to get pathetic,” she sighed.

            “Can’t I lie on the floor if I want to lie on the floor?” Peter retorted. Despite everything, still he smiled.

            “Yeah, but you don’t really wanna lie on the floor,” Harley told him. “Get up.”

            As Peter stood to look her in the eye, she sighed, “Look, I know you miss Gar. I can’t even imagine how much it’s gotta hurt that he’s in love with somebody else. And I’m sorry I haven’t had much time for ya lately.”

            “Don’t feel bad about that,” Peter replied. “You’ve had more time than he’s had.”

            “I miss him too,” Harley admitted. “Not in the way you miss him, but still.”

            “At least he’s probably happy,” Peter speculated. “I’m guessing he’s making the rounds of romantic clichés. Candlelit dinners, terrible movies about star-crossed lovers, taking absurd pictures in photo booths…”

            “If it makes ya feel better, you and I could take some stupid pictures in one of those booths,” Harley volunteered. “Just as friends.”

            “…I may have to take you up on that.”

            “Also, when’s the last time you pulled off a big heist on your own?” Harley brought up. “Do you even do one-man jobs anymore?”  
            “Most everything requires a second hand,” Peter informed her. “And before you say anything, I’m not calling Killer Moth again. Though I suppose there are a few things I could take by myself…”

            “That’s whatcha need,” Harley insisted. “You need some me time. You need a me CRIME. Go on out and steal something ya REALLY want. It’ll make ya feel better. Trust me! It always works for me!”

            “I must thank you as always for your sage advice,” Peter told Harley earnestly.

            “It’s what I’m best at,” Harley said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I’m just doin’ what used to be my job. Now, I haven’t got anything else to do tonight. Wanna go wreak some havoc?”

            “You’d better believe it.”

 

* * *

 

            Going on a solo heist had been a good idea, Ragdoll admitted to himself. However, he probably could have picked a better place to start than Wayne Industries. He’d chosen the facility for the challenge factor, and he’d made great progress in pocketing several valuable prototypes.

            He’d expected the Batman, flanked by Batgirl and Robin, to show up. They’d engaged him in battle, and he, as usual, had been getting the upper hand…for about a minute. Then the Batman had released a horde of nanobots from their protective case, and they made short work of pinning Ragdoll to the wall. Upside down to boot. It probably should have occurred to Ragdoll to wonder how the Batman knew Bruce Wayne’s technology well enough to know to unleash the nanobots, or why the nanobots obeyed Batman of all people. Instead, he just found himself grinning rather awkwardly at the hero trio from his upended position, covered in the tiny machines.

            “You know, I’m way too old to be playing with dolls,” Batgirl quipped.

            “That was my line before it was yours,” Ragdoll replied.

            “Before you get sent off to Arkham,” Batman said gruffly, “I have one question for you.”

            “Who says I’ll give you a straight answer?” Ragdoll shot back. “I tend to do everything crooked, after all.”

            “We know,” Batman replied, completely deadpan. “I want to know about Firefly.”

            “What about him?”

            “Word on the street is you and he worked closely together,” Batman pressed. “We’re investigating a rash of recent crimes committed by him and a currently unidentified woman. Tell me what you know about where he is now and what he’s planning, and I’ll put in a word with the Commissioner to lighten your sentence.”

            Ragdoll had to laugh for the sheer irony of the situation. He didn’t even know where Blaze lived. “I haven’t a clue. Those two are on their own. I haven’t had anything to do with either of them in a month.”

            Batman stared Ragdoll in the face, looking for any tell-tale signs that the thief was lying. His expression seemed solid. And similar interviews Batman had conducted with Firefly’s other clients and employers had turned up similar results: Firefly and Blaze were a double act, but no more than two. “I believe him,” he said to Batgirl and Robin.

            “How can you trust him?” Batgirl asked in confusion. “He could say anything with that stupid smile on his face.”

            “I could say, for example, that I’m really not sure which of you three is the most annoying!” Ragdoll volunteered.

            “That’s enough,” Batman called off. “We’ll let the commissioner handle the rest.”

            Later that night, a break-in at Gotham University would provide him with the identity of Firefly’s accomplice: Dr. Jane Blazedale. Ragdoll supposed he could have said the name, but Batman had never asked for Blaze’s name: just where Firefly was and what he was planning.

            And it bothered Ragdoll more than ever that he didn’t even know that much about Firefly’s current life.

 

* * *

 

            Peter was, as usual, locked up in Arkham. At least, the door to his room was locked. That didn’t necessarily mean he was stuck in one place.

            An orderly paced up and down the hallways, ticking off the names of inmates as he looked into their cells. “221, Hugo Strange. 222, Arnold Wesker. 223, Peter Merkel. 224, Kirk Lang – wait a minute…”

            Cell 223 had been empty. The orderly backtracked, taking a second look through the window. Peter beamed at him, waving cheerily. The orderly shrugged and kept on moving.

            Once Peter was sure the orderly had moved on, he set about removing the grate on the air vent that led into his cell. That had always been his little secret, and he was perpetually amazed that the Arkham staff hadn’t figured it out. Or maybe they had, and they weren’t able to figure out how to stop him short of closing off the entire ventilation system, which would have been more than an inconvenience of construction. The vents were more than large enough for Peter to squirm into and use as a transit system throughout Arkham, and there was one in every cell. The grates were old and easily loosened. Whenever patrols were done, Peter would simply leave his cell and go on whatever adventures he pleased. Escaping the building itself was a more difficult affair, but within Arkham’s walls, he had the run of the place.

            He began by making a perimeter of the block he’d been assigned this time. Strange, Wesker, and Langstrom were amusing enough to annoy, but not the prime targets. He then moved down to another block, seeing how many familiar faces he recognized by peering into cells.

            One in particular made him stop, loosening the grate from the inside.

            Harley leaned back against her thin pillow, reading a book. As she became aware of the grate of her vent dropping to the floor, she excitedly noted her place with a bookmark and cast the novel aside. As Peter dropped to the floor, handspringing off it into a standing position, she charged and tackled him; “PETER!”

            “HARLEY!” As had become custom, he embraced her, picking her up and spinning her about. “They got you too, eh?” he remarked as he let go.

            “Yeah,” Harley admitted. “It was goin’ so well, too. Mr. J invented this whole new kind of silly string that stuck things together permanently, and we were havin’ a great time gummin’ up the wheels of the armored cars until we ran outta string. You shoulda seen them tryin’ to get the cars we sprayed off the road while they were loading us up into the police van, though. It was hilarious! So what’re you in for?”  
            “I took your advice and did a little me-crime,” Peter explained. “Perhaps Wayne Industries was a bit too tough of a nut to crack alone.”

            “Yikes,” Harley replied. “Points for tryin’, at least. So, I got some good news. The staff here is considerin’ lettin’ me have a TV in here so I can watch my movies, since apparently that counts as ‘nonviolent therapy.’ You should join me! We’ll do all the classics!”

            “And annoy everyone else on this block by singing as loudly as we can?” Peter’s grin was downright sinister. “Count me in.”

 

* * *

 

            The inmates of Arkham were given time to get out of their cells and socialize in the courtyard for a set period of time every day; the only ones not allowed to participate were those kept in maximum security in the basement, for obvious reasons. But the majority of the residents were permitted to interact with each other, so long as they didn’t get violent; guards were posted in case things turned foul. And, for such time as Joker counted himself among the residents of Arkham, that was a very real possibility.

            After spending a week in Arkham since his latest arrest, Peter walked out into the courtyard to hear his name being called out by a spritely female voice: “Peter! Hey, Peter! Over here!”

            Harley had a large sheet of paper spread out over a table, and was hoarding every single marker available to the group. No one else seemed to mind; Harley was the only one that interested in the visual arts. She was putting the finishing touches on a self-portrait – with herself adorned with a flowing medieval-style gown and tiara, of course – when she noticed Peter. Peter immediately made his way to Harley’s makeshift studio, and Harley informed him, “Mr. J’s in one of his brainstorming sessions and doesn’t wanna be disturbed, so I’m on my own today. Wanna hang out? Pick a pose and I’ll draw you.”

            “Let’s see…” Peter balanced on one leg, wrapping the other back around his neck. “How’s this?”

            “You’re really gonna test my ability to draw basic human anatomy, y’know,” Harley commented as she set to work adding him to the picture – in a knight’s armor. “Hey…you know what I thought would be really funny?”

            “What would?”  
            “You know the guys down in max security?”  
            “I believe there’s only one,” Peter informed her. “Basil Karlo.”

            “Max security has those cells with the big glass wall and the airtight door,” Harley went on. “I thought it’d be hilarious if one night, while the guys down there – well, okay, just Basil – was sleepin’, I could go down there and draw on that glass wall with these markers, and it’d be there when they woke up. Too bad they won’t let me anywhere near the place. For that exact reason, I’m guessin’.”

            “You may not be able to get down there at night,” Peter reminded her, “but I can. I could make this happen.”

            “Really?” Harley asked joyfully. “Would ya?”  
            “Any requests?”

            “A bunch of pink hearts,” Harley decided. “After that, go crazy.”

            “I’m in Arkham, Harley. I’m already crazy.” He leaned forward as far as he could without losing his balance to see how Harley’s drawing was progressing. “You’re getting my good side. Very good.”

* * *

 

            “124…Joker.” The orderly barely had to look at the cell; Joker was grabbing the bars of his window from the inside and leering out menacingly. “You want something?”

            “Oh, just wanted to remind you that my time here is limited,” Joker replied. “And next time I get out of here, you and the rest of your staff aren’t going to get off scot-free as usual. I’ve got something delightfully nasty planned for all of you. Now, knowing that…sleep tight!”

            “You don’t scare me,” the orderly sighed. “Also, we’ve beefed up security against all the ways you broke out last time. You’re not leaving here anytime soon.”

            “Oh, I’ll be leaving,” Joker threatened. “When you least expect it. After all, the best punchlines are the ones you never…see…coming.”

            And in a miracle of timing, that was when the apple hit him on the head.

            “WHAT?” Joker roared, whipping about to look at the wall from whence the apple had been thrown. The orderly, from his position, hadn’t seen the apple fall, and so was mystified as to why Joker was in such a rage as he bent over to pick up an apple off the floor and throw it at the air vent. “YOU THIRD-RATE RIPOFF! KEEP THAT UP AND I’LL GIVE YOU A SMILE YOU CAN’T TAKE OFF!”

            The orderly, confused, made a note on his clipboard. He knew there were several diagnoses pending for Joker, but delusions of people in the air vents had never been one.

            Ragdoll stifled a laugh as he dragged his satchel of markers through the vent. He hadn’t been able to resist sneaking an apple from the cafeteria just for that blow; this was the only ground on which he could mess with the Joker and not catch consequences.

            He continued on his way down to the lower levels of the asylum. The maximum security cells didn’t have air vents; they didn’t want to risk people like Karlo having an easy exit point. Instead, Peter had to use the vent at the end of the hallway, at which point he slipped out and moved down to the other end, where Karlo was held. In the process, he completely passed by the other cells without a second thought, missing the fact that something was there that hadn’t been there before.

            Peter brought the bag of markers to Karlo’s cell. It was late at night indeed, and Karlo, shifted into human shape, was sprawled out on his bed, fast asleep as was visible through the glass wall with its airlocked door. Peter set to work immediately, drawing a border of pink hearts on the surface of the glass. He finished it all off with a rudimentary doodle of the Batman, Batgirl, and Robin kicking around a Clayface-colored soccer ball with a face. Satisfied with his work, he packed up the markers and made to return to the vent.

            This time, as he passed the other cells, he looked at each of the empty ones, wondering what sort of person you had to be to end up there if you weren’t one of the Clayfaces. Then he stopped. His question had apparently been answered.

            There was someone new in one of the cells.

            The stranger looked entirely odd. He wore no clothes to speak of, and his skin was a network of ash-black plates run through with orange cracks that lent him an otherworldly, fiery glow. He sat with his back to the glass wall, knees pulled up to his chest, obviously in a state of dismay.

            Of course, the first thing Peter wanted to do was figure out how easy he was to mess with.

            “Let me guess,” he said. “You’re a fiery one, aren’t you?”

            The stranger was startled; not just by the sudden voice, but by his recognition of it. He scooted away from the wall and turned to face Peter; there was something very familiar about his face, but Peter just couldn’t place it, thrown off by the ethereal glow and the strange consistency of the skin. After staring at him in shock for a good thirty seconds, the stranger just said “Go away.”

            “Oh, but we’ve only just met,” Peter replied, his usual beam in place. “So, what did they get you in for? Don’t tell me: public streaking.”

            “Peter, GO AWAY.”

            “Oh, so you’ve heard of me!” Peter remarked. “I’m finally getting a reputation. Took everyone long enough.”

            “Peter Merkel, for once in your life, will you stop being a JERK?”

            It hit Peter like a steamroller. It couldn’t be. It absolutely couldn’t be. But now that the notion had entered his head…the voice. The face. It absolutely was. “Garfield…?”

            “I don’t wanna talk to you right now.” Garfield turned his back to the wall again.

            “This is not only the first time you’ve ended up in Arkham,” Peter pointed out, “but you seem to have undergone some sort of horrific transformation. I think we NEED to talk.”

            Garfield sighed. “I know. I figured I’d run into you sooner or later. Wasn’t expecting it to be here and now…”

            “Garfield…what happened?”

            “You wanna know what happened?” Garfield turned back to the wall, standing up so he could face Peter directly. “Playing with fire finally bit me in the butt is what happened.”

            “I’m going to need you to be more specific,” Peter replied.

            “It’s…a long story.”

            “I’ve got time.”

            Garfield paused to gather his thoughts, which wasn’t easy these days. “Blaze and I stole a core of radioactive phosphorous. The plan was to use it to upgrade my battle suit so I could rack up better thefts. We were on the verge of actually getting enough to blow Gotham. Then there was an accident with the phosphorous, and…it turned me into this.”

            “Well, that wasn’t a very long story at – “

            “I’m not finished, Peter.”

            Peter shut his mouth, nodding, his smile more solemn but still present as he listened.

            “I thought I could control it,” Garfield went on. “I finally had a superpower I could use to get my way. But I couldn’t figure out how. Everything I touched burned up. Money. Food.”

            “Blaze?”

            “She had to keep her distance. She kept telling me to get help, that I wasn’t okay, that this wasn’t right, but I just wanted her to SHUT UP. I finally had real power. Besides, she was ready to turn us both in by checking me into the hospital.”

            Peter nodded sympathetically. Of course Blaze would have made all of those mistakes, he thought. He should have seen it coming. Had it been him, he wouldn’t have tried to force Garfield into revealing himself in exchange for medical help. He would have…

            What would he have done? He didn’t actually know. This was an incredibly singular situation.

            “Well, after a few heists went bust, I got a different idea into my head,” Garfield continued. This was the part of the story that was getting hard to tell. “You know…I’ve always hated Gotham. And I was sick of them getting my name wrong. It isn’t ‘Firefly’ anymore, by the way. It’s ‘Phosphorus’ now.”

            “Duly noted.”

            “I was just…I was sick of everything, okay? And things were starting to…not make sense,” Garfield admitted. “All I could think of was how I wanted everything gone. She was right about one thing, though I didn’t want to admit it. I wasn’t in control. I couldn’t do ANYTHING. I was hungry, I was thirsty, I was sinking into the ground, and I just wanted SOMETHING to go my way. I wanted control over something. Anything. And I could only think of one thing. So I went to the nuclear plant.”

            “Whatever for?” Peter asked.

            “What do you think I went there for?” Garfield answered. “To blow this town. Literally. I knew if I sucked up all the radiation from the plant, I could bring Gotham out with a bang. I just wanted it gone.”

            “But…” Peter hesitated to ask the next question. “That meant…you had a plan for me, didn’t you? And Harley? …And Blaze?”

            “No,” Garfield answered solemnly, keeping his gaze fixed upon Peter. He suddenly wanted to look away, but he knew he couldn’t. “Not you. Not Harley. And ESPECIALLY not Blaze. She was there. She tried to talk me out of it. But I wanted to get rid of it all. I didn’t even…I didn’t even think about you.”

            When Blaze had tried to appeal to Garfield by pointing out that his actions would kill her, he hadn’t listened. He hadn’t cared. It hadn’t made a lick of difference. But now, as he confessed his actions to Peter, he was faced with something he hadn’t been prepared for.

            Peter’s smile faded, replaced with an expression of shock and horror. One Garfield hadn’t seen since the days of Rumor. And that, more than anything else, was what let Garfield know he had made a terrible mistake.

            “You…” Peter reiterated, his mouth suddenly gone dry. “You were about to kill me.” He didn’t even bring up Harley or Blaze. All he wanted to focus on was the betrayal he felt had been done to him.

            “I didn’t even THINK about you!” Garfield protested. “I just…I forgot about you, okay? And I know. You’re about to ask, ‘How could you forget about me?’ I couldn’t focus on ANYTHING but me. I couldn’t even focus on Blaze. All I could think about were the things I couldn’t control and the things I COULD and the way I just wanted it GONE and I wanted them to remember me, and I didn’t even stop to think about if I’d live or die in the whole mess, and I don’t think I cared, and I don’t know if I even care right NOW, and I still keep thinking I’d be better off if I’d leveled everything when I had the chance, even though I KNOW that’s wrong, and now that I’m looking at you, I know I should have thought about you, and I should have stopped, and I should have done something else, ANYTHING else, but I can’t figure ANYTHING out because IT’S STILL TOO LOUD IN MY HEAD!” He clutched at his temples, collapsing into a sitting position. “They’re…they’re keeping my body stable with gases, and I think they’re working on stuff for my mind, too, which is why things are…starting to get clearer. I still have these…visions…of blowing up everything, and I LIKE them. But they’re…they’re wrong, Peter. I don’t know if I knew how wrong until I…” He looked sheepishly back up at Peter. “I know you want to leave. Please…please don’t leave. Hear me out.”

            “I’m listening,” Peter said solemnly. “It’s…obvious you aren’t in your right mind. That…explains a lot.”

            “I…” Garfield nearly choked on the next words. He wasn’t sure why he had to confess the next part to Peter, but it seemed crucial. “I called you and Harley…Arkham whack-jobs. That’s what I told the Bat when he showed up to stop me. That I wasn’t like his Arkham whack-jobs. I…I meant it then. I don’t mean it now. Please, you have to listen to me. Blaze won’t. She won’t take messages from me anymore. I know why. She told me I was about to kill her, and I told HER our relationship was too hot to handle. I tried to get a message to her from here. She came to visit me once. She told me…the spark between us was gone.”

            Peter remembered Harley’s advice to tell Garfield about his feelings the moment he and Blaze broke up. Frankly, he couldn’t think of a worse time.

            “A lot has happened to you,” Peter stated. “I suppose what you did is…understandable.”

            “Thank you,” Garfield said weakly.

            “I still don’t like it.”

            “I know,” Garfield replied, his voice breaking. “And I’m…I’m sorry. I know I never would have wanted to hurt you before. I couldn’t THINK.”

            “Garfield, I…I need to think about some things for myself,” Peter stated gingerly. “I’m not leaving you. Not permanently. I’ll come back. But I have to…ask some advice.”

            “Peter, I…I can’t…” Everything had been bad before, but it was a level of bad that Garfield was becoming accustomed to, taking it in stride. All until Peter stopped smiling. And that smile still hadn’t returned. It was perhaps the one thing in all Gotham Garfield couldn’t bring himself to destroy on purpose, and yet it was the one thing in Gotham he’d actually managed to.

            “You know how hard it is to get rid of me,” Peter reminded him. “I’ll be back.”

            “Please…”

            “Goodbye, Garfield.” Not even a “Toodles.” Peter didn’t bother to take the bag of markers with him, leaving them spilled out in front of Garfield’s cell. Garfield watched him retreat, then climb into the air vent and disappear.

            It was late at night. Too late to be stewing upon the thoughts that circled round and round Garfield’s mind like sharks, refusing to give up the scent of blood. Explosions, fire, control, Blaze, Peter. He crawled into his bed, taking up the threadbare blanket that the mixture of gases on the air allowed him to touch without singing. And then he closed his eyes, attempting to quiet the cacophony in his head long enough that he could sleep for at least a couple hours.

 

* * *

 

            A loud rapping on metal pierced Harley’s sleep, pulling her out of a very good dream about giant lollipops. She grunted as she twisted and turned, trying to jerk herself into a conscious state. Whoever was knocking obviously wanted her attention. As she slowly left sleep behind, she realized there was only one person who even could be knocking; the noise was coming from the vent.

            “Peter?” she groaned. “Is this about drawin’ on Basil’s wall? ‘Cause it’s late. You can tell me about it tomorrow.”

            “Dr. Quinzel?” It was obviously Peter’s voice, but Harley couldn’t tell at all why he was calling her by that name. “This is Peter. I’m calling because I’m in a bit of an odd situation.”

            “Peter,” Harley sighed, “come out of the vent. You don’t need to do this.”

            There was a silence before a plea of “Please just humor me.”

            “Okay,” Harley relented. “You’re on Heart 2 Heart. What’s new with ya, Peter?”

            “I haven’t seen my ‘hot guy’ in quite a while,” Peter stated. “Until today. I ran into him in the strangest place.”

            “Gar’s here?” Harley asked in surprise. “Why is Gar HERE?”

            “He’s undergone some…changes. He took some drastic measures while he was away. And I’ve recently learned that he tried to pull off a scheme that…would have killed me.”

            “He WHAT?” Harley screamed.

            “He isn’t in his right mind,” Peter continued. “The…changes took a toll on him. He wanted to destroy the entire city, and me with it. He seems to regret it now, but I’m…well, I’m rather sore about it.”

            “Peter. Please. You have to tell me. What’s wrong with Gar?”

            “I’ll get there,” Peter promised. “But first…please, Harley, I’m lost as to where to go. You always know the right way when it comes to love. Can you help me?”

            “Well…I can try,” Harley resolved. “First of all…do ya still love him? Even though he…apparently tried to kill you?”

            It took a moment, but then the answer was clear: “Yes. Yes, I do.”

            “D’you really think he’s sorry?” Harley went on.

            “As sorry as he can be. He’s really not in his right mind.”

            “If that’s true,” Harley said, “it sounds like he might need you now more than ever. If you still love him…then be there for him. Hear him out. Keep talking to him about what happened and why it happened. How’s that sound?”

            “Very good,” Peter admitted. “I think I was kind of hoping you would say that, really.”

            “Peter,” Harley insisted. “What’s wrong with Gar?”

            Peter slid out of the vent and into Harley’s room, making his usual headfirst entrance before springing up to standing. “It’s a long story,” he began, and Harley noticed the solemn expression on his face right away.

            She sat up on the bed. “I got time,” she answered.

            And so Peter related to her the story of how Firefly had become Phosphorus.


	10. Under the Ragdoll's Hood

Garfield had only just achieved enough mental quiet for another night of what might be called sleep. It was immediately interrupted by the sound of fists rapping upon the glass of his cell.

            “Gar! Wake up, Gar!”

            “Ohhhhh, Garfieeeeeeld!”

            Garfield rather frustratedly rolled out of bed to see Peter and Harley on the other side of the glass, waving at him excitedly. Between them was a large stand with a television and a DVD player set up on it.

            “You…you came back…” Garfield said in mild disbelief.

            “I told you it was hard to get rid of me,” Peter bragged, and his smile was back at full radiance.

            “Peter told me all about what happened to ya,” Harley added, “and we both agreed it wasn’t fair that you had to be stuck down here in this little room and miss all the fun. So we brought some of the fun to ya!”

            “How…” Garfield began.

            “I lifted the key to Harley’s room off one of the orderlies,” Peter explained. “The television is hers.”

            “We thought we could have a movie night just like old times!” Harley said excitedly, holding up a DVD. Garfield recognized it as one of the animated musicals she’d picked out for a past movie night.

            “You didn’t have to do this,” Garfield said softly, overcome with emotion.

            “Sure we did!” Harley chirped.

            “Now, we only have a couple hours before a patrol comes through,” Peter reminded the group.

            Harley set the DVD to play, and she and Peter sat down on the floor, their backs to the wall, a good distance apart so Garfield could settle in between them from the other side, which he did.

            This time, he joined in singing every song. About halfway through the film, the triad thought they could hear Basil Karlo faintly yelling at them from down the hall to shut up, but he was promptly ignored.

            As the credits rolled, Garfield knew he had to say something, but he found himself at a loss for words. “You guys…I…”

            “Absolutely love us and don’t know what you’d ever do without us?” Peter supplied.

            “Actually, that’s not far off,” Garfield admitted. “Look. About the whole…you know. Trying to kill you both by blowing up Gotham thing. I…it…it won’t happen again.”

            “We get it,” Harley reassured him. “Peter explained everything. You just went a little crazy. But that’s okay, because now the three of us are a matchin’ set!”

            “I’m still not convinced there’s actually anything wrong with Peter,” Garfield commented. “But okay. I’ll go with it.”

            “If we didn’t forgive each other for acts of unspeakable evil,” Peter pointed out, “we wouldn’t have any friends at all.”

            “True,” Garfield said with a shake of the head. “Turns out there are two things I like about Gotham after all.” He then realized what he’d said. “Okay, you’re going to forget I said that.”

            “I’d rather lord it over you forever that you’re secretly a sap,” Peter decided.

            “Hey. I’m mentally vulnerable right now.”

            “When has that stopped me before?”

            Harley couldn’t help but grin watching her friends banter.

            The sound of footsteps alerted Harley and Peter to an approaching patrol, and they both snapped to their feet, grabbing ahold of the television stand and wheeling it out of the hall as hastily as they could. As they bolted, Peter fired off a quick “Toodles!” at Garfield.

            Garfield was considerably happier as he returned to his bed to attempt to sleep again. It was easier to quiet his mind.

 

* * *

 

            Sometimes he dreamed about Blaze.

            She stood some distance away from him, her back to him. He took a step toward her, and she turned to face him. “Garfield?”

            “Blaze…” he breathed, reaching out for her.

            His hands were still human flesh as he placed them upon her face, running his thumbs over her cheeks.

            But all of a sudden, his skin cracked and split, bursting with heat. Blaze screamed under his touch as her face burned and melted.

            Garfield awoke suddenly, but the more he thought about the dream, the more he was able to just brush it off and try to go back to sleep.

* * *

 

            Blaze turned to face him. “Garfield?”

            “Blaze…”

            He reached out, stroked her face gently. As before, his hands transformed without warning, scorching her, and she screamed.

            He awoke. He acknowledged the dream. He went back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

            “Garfield?”

            “Blaze…”

            His fingers caressed her, then bloomed into flame. She howled, trying to wrench herself away from his grasp.

            He awoke, he shook it off, he returned to sleep.

 

* * *

 

            Blaze turned to face him. “Garfield?”

            “Blaze…” he breathed, reaching out for her.

            His fingers gently ran over her face, but this time, the details of it changed beneath his touch. She was taller. She wasn’t even Blaze anymore.

            Then Garfield’s hands erupted into fire. He immediately withdrew his grip, but it was too late. The person Blaze had become clutched his face in pain, screaming in agony.

            Garfield awoke in terror, his heart beating faster. Had he retained the ability to sweat, he would have been doing so coldly. He was used to the terrible visions of Blaze burning under his touch.

            But the nightmare of Peter burning was something different altogether.

 

* * *

 

            Lunch was delivered to Garfield with utmost care as to not disturb his cell and upset the balance of the controlled air that preserved his skin. The staff tried to give him the same food as everyone else, but while Garfield could finally touch it and digest it without burning it to ash, it all tasted burned and charred to him. He very nearly threw his tray at the wall out of sheer frustration, but refrained, knowing he’d just be hungry later.

            As he picked at his tray, expecting to spend another lonely lunchtime, he became aware of Harley stepping into view of his cell, looking around to make sure the hall was deserted. She took a big bite of a red, juicy-looking apple, then approached Garfield’s cell. “Hey, Gar,” she greeted.

            “Hey, Harley,” Garfield replied. “What are you doing down here?”

            “Hopin’ they don’t catch me skippin’ out on lunch,” Harley answered. “I wanted to talk to ya some more.”

            “I’m not the best conversationalist right now,” Garfield warned her. “My life is literally this room. It’s as boring as it sounds.”

            “I kinda figured,” Harley replied. “See, I’m probably not gonna be hangin’ around much longer. Mr. J’s figured a way out, and he’s takin’ me with. Now, I know what you’re gonna say: I shouldn’t go with him.”

            “It’s not like I can do anything to stop you from in here,” Garfield grumbled.

            “I just thought you might wanna talk before I go,” Harley suggested. “I know I might not look it, but I am a trained psychologist. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I get the sense that you NEED a psychologist, at least for a little bit.”

            “They’ve assigned therapists to me,” Garfield informed her. “None of them did any good, but I have them. I dunno. Maybe you can put things in a better way than they can.”

            “Watch the student become the teacher!” Harley bragged. “Whaddaya need help with?”

            Garfield sighed. “I still think about destroying everything. And those thoughts still feel…weirdly satisfying. Then I remember the reasons I shouldn’t. It keeps on coming into my head, like a channel I can’t change. Everyone keeps telling me the reason thinking about blowing up the city is wrong, and, yeah, I get it. I can’t make it STOP. And I can’t make it stop feeling right for those two seconds before I remember.”

            “This one’s easy,” Harley boasted. “Well…okay. I know the answer to it easy enough. It might not be so easy to pull off, but ya need to practice. I get thoughts like that all the time. Not as bad as yours, but I got all sorts that I wanna just have go away. The first trick is to not try so hard to make it stop. The more you think about not thinking about it, the more you’ll think about it.”

            “Makes sense,” Garfield said with a nod, wondering why no one else in the entire facility had put it that way before.

            “If you’re thinkin’ about destroyin’ Gotham, then just…let yourself think about it,” Harley encouraged. “You said you got reasons not to actually do it now. So long as you know those reasons and you can hang onto ‘em, you won’t actually do it. Which brings me to the second trick. Balance the bad thoughts out with good ones you think on purpose. I…well, I…I like to think about the people I love.”

            “Wouldn’t you know it, I actually have a couple of those,” Garfield admitted.

            “But it can be anything,” Harley told him. “Remember how fun it was just to burn things down as part of the job? That way, you only hurt the people you WANTED to.”

            “Staff would NOT like hearing you tell me that.”

            “That’s how I get by, sometimes,” Harley admitted. “Thinkin’ about somethin’ I can steal, or gettin’ revenge on somebody who messed with me or my friends. We’re the bad guys around here, and if it’s between that and worse thoughts, is bein’ bad really so bad?”

            “Harley,” Garfield interrupted, “I kind of…have a question. Since you got me thinking about the whole ‘people I love’ thing. I never watched your show, but you always did romance advice, right?”

            “Yup!” Harley nodded fervently.

            “I…actually might need that kind of advice.”

            “Gettin’ Blaze back?” Harley asked. “Gar, I don’t know if that’s…I mean, I know I always said not to take no for an answer, but you burned a pretty big bridge there. It’d take somethin’ epic to get her to – “

            “It’s not about Blaze,” Garfield quickly stated. “That’s the weird thing. Blaze tried to get me to stop by telling me I’d destroy her. And that didn’t do ANYTHING to me. I didn’t CARE. Now, as you see, I obviously do. And that’s probably because of the meds they’re lacing the air with. But…something happened, and I’m starting to wonder if it means something.”

            “What?”

            Garfield had thought about trying to keep it vague, but then he realized he absolutely couldn’t. The situation was so unique that even if he did try to keep it secret, Harley would figure it out. “You have to PROMISE not to tell anyone. ESPECIALLY the person it happened with.”

            “What if this person really needs to know – “

            “PROMISE, Harley.”

            “Aw, fine, fine, I promise,” Harley sighed. “Now gimme the goods! Like we’re on an episode of Heart 2 Heart.” She took another bite of her apple, wiping the juice off her face with her hand.

            Garfield decided to just come out with it and see how bad the damage was. “What does it mean that Blaze couldn’t talk me into saving her, but the minute I REALLY knew I screwed up was when I told Peter about it and he stopped smiling?”

            Harley’s apple hit the floor.

            “Yeah, I know,” Garfield sighed. “You probably didn’t see THAT one coming. But I’ve had a lot of time to think down here, and when it’s NOT about death and destruction, it’s about…” He shook his head. “Okay, so this has to be literally the worst time to be thinking about this, right? You’d think this would turn me off the whole romance thing even MORE.”

            “There’s somethin’ I shoulda told you a long time ago, way back when you mentioned not being into relationships in the first place,” Harley stated, knowing she was treading unsteady ground but still unable to hold back her opinion. “If you’re really not into it, that’s fine. But if it’s just ‘cause a bad experience made you once bitten and twice shy, the only cure is to get right back on the horse and find somebody better. Sorry for mixin’ metaphors.”

            “I have these dreams, too,” Garfield admitted. “Dreams about setting Blaze on fire. And they didn’t bother me. Guess I’m desensitized. But one of them was about setting PETER on fire, and it was a nightmare. So I started…really thinking about him. I’ve always felt way too comfortable being able to tell him everything. Which, when you think about the fact that it’s Peter, shouldn’t make any sense. When we were caught by Rumor…I was HOPING he would find me. And that’s the other thing. Rumor. Tony Zucco. When those guys messed with him, I got…” Scared. “Really, REALLY mad.”

            “How much do you look forward to seein’ him?”  
            “A lot, Harley. I know he’s right here in Arkham and he didn’t see me too long ago, but I miss him.” He shrugged. “And maybe I noticed some of this stuff before, but I figure everyone’s a little in love with their best friend, right?”

            “Were you ever a little in love with me?” Harley asked with a wink.

            “No,” Garfield realized.

            “Describe him to me,” Harley demanded. “Right now.”

            “Well, he’s a jerk.”

            “I know. Describe him MORE.”

            “He’s always got that stupid idiot smile on,” Garfield said off the top of his head. “He’s confident. As in, I’m pretty confident, but sometimes I wish I was more like him. He’s weird. You can’t forget the guy. He’s fun to be around if you’re on his good side. Which I am. And he’s…” Garfield muttered the next word so quietly, Harley couldn’t hear it.

            “Come on,” Harley encouraged. “Say it out loud. I won’t say a word.”

            “Beautiful, okay?” Garfield blurted. “He’s beautiful. Have you SEEN him move? Just…when I’m around him, things are actually great. And I don’t ever want him to stop smiling. Especially not because of me. Gahhh, how long have I actually been thinking about this?”

            “Hmm…” Harley wondered out loud. “Couldn’t have been all that long, since Blaze got to ya first.”

            “I…don’t actually know. Blaze was just like…wow. All at once. But the more I think about Peter, the more I think the stuff I like about him has ALWAYS been there. He’s just…always been my partner in crime.”

            “And he makes ya happy?”  
            “Yeah.”

            “Does he make your heart beat faster?”

            “Actually, now, yes.”

            Harley gasped. “You LOVE him!”

            “That’s…what I was afraid of,” Garfield groaned. “Literally could not be a WORSE time. Or a worse place. And probably not a worse person.”

            Harley ached to tell Garfield about Peter’s admiration for him that had lasted for a year and then some, but she knew she couldn’t say a word without betraying Peter’s confidence. She equally ached to take this news back to Peter, but she had also just sworn to Garfield that she wouldn’t say a word of the subject…and most importantly, if the two of them were going to get anywhere, they couldn’t be brought together by someone else. They had to figure it out face-to-face. “Just take it for what it is,” Harley advised. “Let yourself love him. Who knows? Maybe if you tell him – “

            “Okay, THAT’S not a good idea.”

            “But why not?”

            “Um…hello?” Garfield reminded her. “Fire monster, trapped in a room in the basement, mind is FRIED? I’m not exactly boyfriend material here. And even if I was, do you know how hard he’d lord it over me if he knew? At least it’d give him something to laugh about.”

            Harley bit her lip. She wanted to at least do something to get things moving in the right direction. “If you say so,” she relented at last. “But you won’t know unless ya chance it.”

            “I’ll think it over,” Garfield decided. “But the answer’s probably no. Thanks for not making fun of me for it at least.”

            “I’m a professional, remember?” Harley gave another coy wink. “So. Feel better?”  
            “Yeah. A lot.”

            “Good,” Harley said with a nod. “Lunch is probably almost over, so I better get upstairs. But I’ll see you again sometime, okay?”

            Garfield doubted he’d ever see her outside of the confines of Arkham again. They’d made no headway whatsoever in the way of reversing his transformation, and he was finally ready to admit that while in his current physical state, there was nowhere he could go and nothing he could do. Still, all the same, he said, “See ya.”

            The following day, as she’d speculated, Harley and Joker were both gone, free to run about Gotham and wreak havoc.

 

* * *

 

            The Arkham staff kept sending their therapists to speak to Garfield, trying to crack his psyche. That was during the day. By night, after curfew, Peter would slip into the hallway through the vents, delivering to Garfield a detailed report about who had done what during the day’s activities and who had been the easiest to rile up.

            It was no contest between which of these constant sources of conversation made Garfield feel any better about his situation.

            And as Garfield and Peter spoke, Garfield found himself memorizing every physical detail he could about Peter. The shade of his hair, the shape of his face, the way his too-large orange uniform bagged around his slender body. And most of all that gorgeously idiotic smile.

            It wasn’t a new revelation so much as it was the uncovering of something that had been long buried.

 

* * *

 

            One day – perhaps it was because he’d exhausted every other topic he’d had to discuss, or perhaps he just couldn’t hold it in any longer – Garfield accidentally let slip: “So I’ve been thinking about it, and dating somebody asexual wouldn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.”

            “Oh, really?” Peter raised a brow, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the wall. Garfield was sprawled out sitting as well, almost a mimicry of how they’d sat together in the back of the ice cream truck on their first day on Team Penguin.

            “Yeah,” Garfield confirmed, slightly panicking. Why had he brought that up? He had to be extremely careful how he tread. “I think I was about ready to trade in even being able to TOUCH Blaze for more firepower anyway. Not that I don’t miss being able to actually touch people…or, you know, touch anything that isn’t in this cell…but I could live without getting down and dirty if it was the right person. It would have to be someone REALLY special, though.”

            “Any particular reason you bring this up?” Peter inquired, interest piqued. He could think of a very obvious reason why Garfield might want to mention this, but at this point, he wasn’t sure how it could possibly be the truth of the matter.

            “I have too much time to think,” Garfield snapped. “I think about LITERALLY EVERYTHING.”

            “Fair enough.”

            They were both silent for a while before Garfield admitted, “Talking to you might be one of the things keeping me from going completely off the edge.”

            “I’m flattered, Garfield.”

            “I mean it,” Garfield insisted. “Not that I won’t be fine on my own when you figure out how to break out of here.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Hey, Peter…”

            “Yes, Garfield?”

            “Is it just me, or have you been in here WAY longer than usual?” Garfield realized. “Don’t you usually have an escape plan by now?”  
            Peter realized he’d been partially found out. “Maybe I have one,” he admitted. “Maybe I don’t want to use it just yet.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because then, who would I have to talk to?”

            “You are seriously NOT staying in here because of me.”

            “Why not?” Peter asked teasingly.

            “Because that would seriously be the dumbest reason to stay here.”

            “Oh, come now, Garfield. Don’t sell yourself short.”

            “I don’t mean it THAT way,” Garfield said, exasperated. “I mean…don’t you have a life to get back to?”

            Peter replied to this with a silent shrug and a wide grin.

            “You’re…really still here because of me,” Garfield realized. “I…don’t even know what to say to that.”

            “How about ‘Peter Merkel, you’re such a good friend! You’re the best person in all the world!’?” Peter suggested.

            “Like I’m going to say that to your face.”

            “You said that like you say it behind my back.”

            “Well, yeah, I HAVE to – “ Garfield immediately shut his mouth. He’d gone a stitch too far.

            Peter knew he’d somehow pressed a button. “Care to explain?”

            “No.”

            “Well, now I know there’s something you’re trying not to say, Garfield. Something concerning me. And you know how I feel about it when you bring things up and don’t explain them.”

            “You trick me into explaining them,” Garfield grumbled, “then don’t deliver anything in return.”

            “Yes, but I never once used it against you, did I?” Peter pointed out.

            “You know what?” Garfield broke. “Just…forget it. I have literally nothing to lose. LITERALLY NOTHING. At this point, I might as well, okay?”

            “Might as well what?”  
            Garfield exhaled deeply. “What I was saying is that I have to talk about how awesome you are behind your back, because if I said it to your face, you’d laugh at me.”

            “Now, why would I ever laugh at such a flattering compliment?” Peter asked.

            “Because…it’s more than just a compliment.”

            “Ohhhhh?”  
            “I…” Garfield turned his gaze away, looking at the wall. “I might be in love with you.”

            There was silence in reply. When Garfield actually chanced looking back at Peter, he flinched. Peter’s smile was the widest and happiest-looking it had ever been. And that, to Garfield, signaled trouble. “Don’t,” Garfield warned. “Do NOT hold this over me.”

            “I wasn’t planning on it,” Peter stated. “But, really? This soon after Blaze? I would have thought you would have been more disillusioned with the concept of love than ever.”

            “I had time to think about my priorities,” Garfield confessed. “And somebody smart told me to get back on the horse after love bit me, or something. Anyway, there you go. Now you know. I don’t know if it’s because you actually got me to dance, or because you hugged me and told me there was no one like me when Rumor was gonna kill us, or because you tied off my stab wound with your shirt, or because talking to you keeps me from going crazy in here. But it’s probably mostly because of that stupid, STUPID smile.”

            “I’ll tell you what,” Peter decided. “Since you told me that…I’ll let you know who my secret crush is.”

            “You still HAVE that?” Garfield was surprised. “You didn’t bring it up for, like, a year.”

            “Oh, I most definitely still have it,” Peter confirmed. “Same person all this time, too. Care to hazard a guess?”  
            “I don’t even know who’s left,” Garfield sighed. “Killer Croc.”

            “No.”

            “Mr. Freeze?”

            “Goodness, no.”

            “GOOD. …Joker?”  
            “I do hope you weren’t serious about that one.”

            “I give up,” Garfield said with a small shrug. “Who is it?”

            “You really haven’t guessed, Garfield? After all this time? I thought it was rather obvious at this point,” Peter admitted.

            “Obvious?” Garfield repeated. “Who would be OBVIOUS? Unless it’s somehow ME, I don’t see what…”

            Peter was slowly nodding. “Now you’re getting it.”

            “…Me?” Garfield was taken aback. “It…it’s me.”

            “That it is,” Peter confirmed. “You’re very attractive, after all.”

            “How…long has it been me?”  
            Peter pretended to think it over. “I’d say about…Team Penguin, day one.”

            “That was the day we MET,” Garfield said incredulously. “And all this time…? You…?”

            “Loved you,” Peter said all too casually.

            “So…wait. When you said I was hot…”

            “I meant it.”

            “WHEN YOU SAID IT WAS DESTINY THAT WE WERE ON THE SAME TEAM…”

            “I really thought you would have picked up on it right then, Garfield.”

            Garfield opened his mouth to say something, then promptly closed it. He stood up. He crossed the room to the wall. And then he began to ram his head against the wall, yelling out, “IDIOT! IDIOT! IDIOT!”

            “Head trauma might not be the best way to go about improving your mental state,” Peter pointed out.

            “I’M AN IDIOT!” Garfield yelled. “We could have been PERFECT! If I’d just been with YOU from the beginning, I wouldn’t have had to go through Blaze, I wouldn’t have had to go through ANY of that – “

            Peter stood up. “I do fear history might have repeated himself with the Phosphorus incident.”

            Garfield paused his head-bashing momentarily, about to say that he was sure Peter could have stopped him from his attempt to bring Gotham down in flames. But then he realized he couldn’t be entirely certain of that. Had he been too far gone? Would he have listened? “I…can’t promise I’ll never blow up another city,” he said at last. “But I do know I’m never going to blow up a city that you’re in.”

            “For what it’s worth, Garfield…” Peter placed a hand on the glass. “My spark never went out.”

            Garfield returned to the wall, putting his own hand up against the other side to mirror Peter’s, as though they could somehow touch. He looked up, directly meeting Peter’s gaze, and Peter observed that Garfield’s eyes sparkled the most that they ever had since he’d entered Arkham. “It really shouldn’t have taken me this long to light mine.”

            Without warning, Peter leaned forward, shutting his eyes and pressing his lips directly to the glass. Garfield instinctively laughed at the sight; “Peter Merkel, you are a DORK.” Then he kissed the other side of the glass, matching the position of Peter’s mouth, closing his own eyes.

            They could almost feel each other.

* * *

           

            By some miracle, the staff of Arkham had found a way to do it. It had taken them months, but with a grant from Wayne Industries (which Garfield resented to no end), they’d managed to come up with a cure for Garfield’s condition.

            “How do you feel?” one of the orderlies asked as Garfield watched the back of his hand in awe; his crusty, glowing skin gelled back into flexible flesh before his eyes.

            Garfield flexed his hand, turning it over, bending each finger. He then surveyed his whole body…and formed his opinion: “I feel like I need pants.”

            He was handed plain white underwear and an orange uniform, which he gratefully slipped into. “Have you been thinking about destruction lately?” the orderly asked.

            “I just don’t think that’s any of your business,” Garfield sassed. The truth was he was still plagued by unwanted thoughts, but he’d learned to let them simply come and go, as Harley had suggested to him. It wasn’t to say he was done with destruction as a whole. He realized that as much as he’d claimed to want to get away from the life of crime, he sorely missed his days of arson for hire, watching things burn. He was done being Phosphorus; he just wanted to be Firefly again. Fully dressed, he turned to look at the full-length mirror in the room, then ran a hand over his bald head in disgust. He also wanted his hair back, but that would take time.

            “Now that your body is stable,” the orderly explained, “you can join the others in the courtyard. I do have to warn you that any violent actions will result in punishment, namely isolation and a revocation of your socialization privileges.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Garfield said with a dismissive wave. “I’ll play nice.” He didn’t let it show, but he was absolutely eager to be let loose upon the courtyard where the other inmates were gathered. He desperately wanted to see Peter, to be able to actually touch him without a layer of glass in between them.

            They led him to the yard, let him enter the crowd of orange uniforms. It took Garfield a moment to locate the person he was looking for, but then he spotted him: seated at a table with Langstrom, Wesker, and Strange, trying to figure how best to cheat them all at Euchre.

            Garfield thought of a hundred different greetings, but all of them turned up too corny in his mind. He found he was actually nervous to get close; now that he had a human physiology, his palms were greased with sweat, and his heart pounded in his ears. It shouldn’t be this hard, he told himself. You’re literally roommates. You’ve been closer than this.

            He forced himself to stride over to the card table, finally settling on simply approaching Peter from behind and tapping him on one shoulder. As Peter turned to look at who’d gotten his attention, Garfield simply said, “Hey – “

            Peter practically tackled him, leaping up to pull him into a bone-crushing hug, wrapping one leg up around Garfield’s waist in a way that was more playful than sensual, crashing his lips against Garfield’s. It was absolute bliss; Garfield, caught off guard, needed only a moment to gather his senses enough to wrap his own arms around Peter’s waist and draw him in ever closer. It took them both a moment to realize that literally everyone in the yard was staring at them both.

            Peter untangled himself from Garfield, turning to announce to his fellows in cards, “I fold.”

            “It’s a four-person game,” Langstrom reminded him.

            “Don’t care.” Peter took Garfield by the hand to lead him to the other side of the courtyard. “It actually worked,” he told Garfield, beaming brightly.

            “Yeah,” Garfield replied. “Wish I had my hair back, though.”

            “I think it’s rather a good look for you.”

            “Well, I think I look better with hair.”

            “Agree to disagree?”

            Garfield nodded. “So. What’s new with you?”  
            “Well,” Peter stated, lowering his voice so as not to be heard, “now that I can take you with me, I have a very good reason to leave Arkham.”

            “Your breakout plan is a two-person plan?” Garfield asked.

            “It is now,” Peter affirmed. “How ready are you to be back in business?”

            “So ready, you don’t even know.”

 

* * *

 

            Harley stirred a drink boredly at her table at the Fourth Circle. Joker had insisted on taking yet another scheme solo, leaving her by her lonesome. She thought getting out to dance and have a few drinks on her own was the obvious solution to her loneliness, but so far, it wasn’t really working.

            “Care for a dance?” a voice asked from somewhere off to Harley’s side.

            “No thanks,” she began to reply, turning to see who’d addressed her. “I’m a taken – “ She gasped, first seeing who had spoken – “Peter!” – and then who accompanied him – “GAR!” She leapt up from the table, throwing her arms around both of them. After a brief embrace, she let go, backing up to look at Garfield. “You’re YOU again!”

            “For the most part,” Garfield replied.

            “Garfield, if you complain about your hair again, you’re going to leave me no choice but to draw on your head while you’re asleep,” Peter warned. “Credit to Harley for the idea, of course, after her suggestion about what to do to Basil Karlo.”

            “Okay, before we go any further,” Garfield said sternly, looking to Harley, “Peter tells me you KNEW.”

            “Knew what?” Harley asked innocently.

            “That he was in love with me for a YEAR.”           

            Harley shrugged. “I had to let it happen naturally! Which was real hard, y’know. So are you two…”

            “Officially involved with one another?” Peter cut her off. “As a matter of fact, yes.” He wrapped one arm around Garfield’s shoulders, drawing him close; Garfield aided the effort by leaning in that direction.

            “EeeeeeEEEEEE!” Harley squealed. “You two are so CUTE together, y’know that?”

            “We know,” Garfield replied cheekily.

            “So what happens now?” Harley asked. “You guys…probably don’t need a third wheel hangin’ around.”

            “Third wheel?” Peter reiterated. “We like to think of the term as ‘platonic accomplice.’”

            “And we are DEFINITELY in the market for one of those,” Garfield added. “In fact, we might just have a job lined up. It’s a three-person gig. You in?”  
            “Am I EVER!” Harley screeched. “On one condition.”

            “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?” Garfield asked.

            “Another one of my songs is playin’,” Harley explained. “I want one dance before we go.”

            “Ohhhhhh, no,” Garfield protested. “I’m not – PETER, DON’T YOU DARE – “

            Peter was already dragging him onto the floor by one arm.

            “PETERMERKELYOUAREAJERK – “

            “Spin,” Peter commanded, giving Garfield a light shove. Garfield obeyed, spinning out, keeping one hand clasped tightly in Peter’s, until they were at maximum distance; Peter then reeled him back in, Garfield spinning in the opposite direction, until they were close enough to kiss, which they did with gusto.

            Harley took her place beside the couple on the dancefloor, doing her part as usual to help make Garfield actually look good. Though with Garfield actually dancing that close to Peter, she didn’t have to work as hard on it as usual.

 

* * *

 

            By the time the Batman had arrived on the scene of the break-in at the gem depository, with Robin and Batgirl at his side, the villains he’d come to pursue were already on the getaway. Harley fled down the east hallway, shaking Batgirl with a grenade. Ragdoll managed to get one very hard punch in to Robin’s face before disappearing into the ventilation system. And Firefly, zigzagging to deftly avoid a slew of batarangs, went straight up through the holes he’d carved in every ceiling.

            The triple defenders of Gotham skidded out the door just in time to see all three villains reunite in the front seat of a cement truck, the back of which was loaded down with glittering gems. As the cement truck pealed away down the road, jewels spilling out across the asphalt, three whoops of success could be heard echoing throughout the night.

            “Something tells me we’re gonna get real tired of those three,” Batgirl sighed.

            “What, you’re not already?” Robin retorted.

            “We might still be able to catch them,” Batman suggested gruffly.

            The Batmobile revved up, taking off after the cement truck, and the chase began. Already, in the distance, the three vigilantes could hear the sound of their quarry leaning out the windows of their unconventional vehicle and yelling “TOODLES!”


End file.
